


Castelo Do Mar

by cincoflex



Category: The Night Manager (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, D/s, Dark Past, Dom/sub, F/M, Kinky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6651271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good ex-soldier and manager knows about taking orders, and giving them. How well will that carry over to his personal life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castelo do Mar was considered one of the finest hotels in Lisbon; rich, refined, never ostentatious and apart enough from the city to be preferred by the crème de la crème of the rich. The hotel sat east of the Belem tower, overlooking where the Atlantic met the waters of the Tagus River in a spectacular view rarely affordable to the average Lisbon visitor. At Castelo do Mar, everything from the suites to the five diamond service provided within was tasteful, lush, and smooth.

That included service by the staff who were hired for their discretion and efficiency. Most of them were young, ambitious and well-versed in the idiosyncrasies of the wealthy. Maids were trained to be tactful and quick; the room service attendants moved like formal shadows throughout the hotel as they delivered whims and retrieved the aftermath of the same. The concierge worked in tandem with the managers to insure that Castelo do Mar remained a luxurious haven for those who could afford its price, and that directive carried over from the day well into the night.

Unfortunately just as many issues tended to occur after dark, and if it hadn’t been for the cool and unflappable patience of the night manager, the reputation of Castelo do Mar might have suffered. As it was, Jonathan Pine worked behind the scenes with ruthless efficiency, making sure his subordinates understood exactly what to do in any given situation that arose. Most respected him; nearly all admired him and appreciated his tendency to take responsibility for whatever great or small disaster occurred once the sun went down. Lost dog? Food poisoning? Disagreement over a bill? All handled with the same serene approach.

That said, the case of the guest in the Concha suite nearly floored him.

“Yes sir, we do have a doctor available. Are you sure we don’t need an ambulance?” Pine murmured into the house phone, wondering at the man’s pain-filled tone. “I’ll summon Doctor Sable right away; what can I say is wrong?”

The man’s reply could barely be heard, and even then Pine wasn’t sure he’d caught it. “Your . . . penis?”

That was enough. Pine reassured him assistance was on the way, and then switched to the emergency line, wondering exactly how to phrase the situation. A single buzz connected him. “Doctor Sable?”

“This is Doctor Sable,” came a low reply. “What’s the medical problem?”

“I’m not precisely sure,” Pine began cautiously, “but it involves the penis of the guest in the Concha suite.”

“Oh God. All right, I’ll meet you at the elevators. Please have a shuttle ready, Mr. Pine.”

“Right,” he replied, and hung up.

Pine made it first to the elevator bank, a benefit of his longer legs and a shorter route. He caught sight of Doctor Sable moving briskly his way, her heels clacking on the terracotta tiles, her expression slightly grumpy as she carried her Gladstone bag. He liked the way she wore her straight black hair in a thick braid in a glossy coronet over her brow, and how she preferred neutral sweaters and dark skirts instead of the hotel uniform.

“I predict it’s stuck in a bottle. Most likely a magnum champagne bottle, since those seem to have the most childish appeal to horny drunks.”

“You’ve dealt with this _before_?” Pine asked before he could stop himself. He’d talked to Doctor Sable only a few times since she was hired, during administrative meetings and her forthrightness was . . . refreshing.

“More than I’d like to,” she sighed. “I’ve got baby oil, duct tape and a glass cutter in my bag—I may need your help.”

His eyebrows went up, and against his better sense he smirked. Finally she smirked back, briefly before settling in on a more sedate expression. “Depending on the situation, we may be able to free our guest without too much trouble, however if not, we’ll need to get him and his wounded member to the De Egas Moniz emergency room as quickly as we can; hence the shuttle.”

“Understood,” Pine murmured as he followed her into the elevator.

It _was_ a champagne bottle, and Doctor Sable did indeed know what she was doing. After snapping on latex gloves she spoke soothingly to the red-faced teary young man holding the Moet and Chandon magnum at his crotch. “All right, I’m so glad you called us. We need to get this off of you as quickly as we can, sir. How long have you been encased?”

As she spoke she made the guest take two analgesics and gestured for Pine to assist her; under her direction he wrapped duct tape around the center of the bottle, trying not to look at the grossly swollen stub of the guest’s penis plugged in the neck. The young man managed to mumble out a sad story of a great deal of drinking, and a raucous bet despite the fact that there was no one else in the suite at the moment.

“Well these things happen,” Doctor Sable murmured soothingly as she applied baby oil at the base of his penis. “I need you to pinch the bridge of your nose tightly; that will help. Mr. Pine,” she pointed to the glass cutter, “I believe you can press harder than I can.” 

He rolled the cutter, pressing it just under the bottom edge of the duct tape while the guest whimpered a bit. When Pine had managed to complete the circumference, Doctor Sable picked up one of the marble ashtrays and brought it down sharply on the lower end of the bottle. 

Pine flinched, but instead of the bottle shattering, the cut end broke off neatly, and the duct tape kept the other half from breaking into shards as the vacuum seal broke. Sable gave a tug and the top half of the champagne bottle slid off, leaving the guest swaying, his oily penis still grossly swollen but free. 

Carefully Doctor Sable cradled the swollen shaft in one gloved hand, bracing the other on her patient’s shoulder.

“All right, it’s abraded of course, but I don’t think you’ve done any lasting damage to it. I have some ointment with a numbing agent so you can sleep tonight--on your back, please-- and if you’re still in pain in the morning we can discuss going to the hospital.”

“No, no hospital!” the young man pleaded. “I’m fine now!”

“All right then, but I would still like to check on you in the morning,” she murmured, cleaning the injured penis carefully. Pine busied himself picking up the cut bottle and disposing of it. When the doctor was done, she nodded, and they left the suite together, making it all the way to the elevator without making eye contact. Once inside though, Pine chuckled, and she joined in, looking amused herself.

“I’ve heard of this sort of incident before, but never had it happen at any of my previous positions. Dear God.”

“Yes well he’s young and stupid and lucky,” Doctor Sable sighed. “I’ll finish the paperwork and make sure both you and my uncle get copies.”

“Very good,” Pine murmured. They stepped out together into the lobby, and looked at each other for a long moment in bemused camaraderie.

“Here’s hoping it’s a quiet rest of the night, Mr. Pine,” she murmured.

He watched her for a moment, admiring her elegant saunter as she headed back to her office before turning himself towards the main desk and the other duties waiting for him there.

*** *** *** 

Two weeks later Pine found _himself_ in need of Doctor Sable’s services personally, much to his chagrin. He staunched the blood from his leaking wrist as best he could and had Lucia call down to alert the doctor of his impending arrival. Taking the back hallways, he made it down to the unmarked door of the in-residence medical office and nearly ran into Sable as she stood in the doorway. She spotted his bloody sleeve and motioned him in. “Coat, off, shirt too--What happened?”

“Caught the edge of a battered steamer trunk as it fell off a luggage trolley. Had a corner edge like a knife,” Pine murmured, slipping out of his coat and tugging his bloody right sleeve up to the elbow. Sable wiped gauze along the outside edge of his wrist, revealing a two inch gash with a little flap on the top. It welled with scarlet again, thick drips sliding heavily down his pale arm.

“You need stitches. I think two, maybe up to four. Last tetanus shot?”

“At least six years,” Pine admitted. He had his mobile out, but Sable shot him an annoyed look and took it from him.

“The front desk _will_ cover for you,” she assured Pine and made him hold the gauze. “Pressure. Here. Sit.”

“Yes, madam,” he intoned, half-annoyed, half-amused by her manner.

She laid out her materials, moving quickly to give him a numbing agent before pulling out the sterile pre-threaded needle. “Wrong, Pine. The correct response is ‘Yes Oh Mistress Sable’ if I even _give_ you permission to speak at all. Since you’re wounded and bleeding all over my office, I’ll let it slide this time.”

Without missing a beat, he murmured, “Yes, Oh Mistress Sable,” as a tingle ran through him. 

She very nearly smiled, holding back at the last moment. “Better. All right, let’s get to work on keeping that red stuff inside you where it belongs.”

He held still, watching carefully as Sable cleaned, stitched and bandaged the outer part of his wrist, her touch light all throughout. The process brought her close to him; close enough to smell her warm perfume and note the plumpness of her mouth. Even the little sting of the antiseptic didn’t stop him from watching her concentration.

“Look away, Pine,” she told him, “I’m not that interesting.”

“Yes you are,” he bantered back. He added, “Mistress Sable.”

“Shhhh, tyro,” she ordered, her tone firm and just a touch dangerous.

He felt himself flush a bit, and kept quiet until she’d finished taping the bandage in place.“Ah, thank you.”

Then she _did_ smile, and the way it touched her lips and eyes struck him like a quick glimpse into a lush hidden garden. It was so unexpected that all he could do was stare at her.

“You’re welcome. It’s deep but not serious; avoid heavy lifting and try to keep the bandage dry. I’ll take the stitches out in a few weeks; do you need anything for pain?”

“No, no, this is fine,” Pine murmured, still slightly surprised by how he’d been taken unaware for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Yes; you’re _still_ welcome,” Sable told him, handing him back his mobile. “Do you have a spare coat and shirt?”

He nodded, rising. “Yes, in my office behind the door.”

She rose up and leaned into him, holding his gaze with hers. “If I were you,” Sable spoke softly, “I’d be sure to do light duties for the rest of the night, and when I got home, I’d take a hot bath with a glass of wine before turning in. Something strong. One glass only.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to reply ‘yes Mistress Sable’ but her look was too intense to risk offending her, and Pine found himself nodding instead.

He took her advice, and found that the cup of garrafiera did indeed not only take away the residual ache but put him into a deep sleep as well. 

*** *** *** 

Her file held all the basic information he’d expected, but Pine still went through it carefully, unsure of what he was looking for. Medical school in America, residencies in Europe, then a gap of eighteen months. After that, a few years with Medecins sans Frontieres and finally the night shift at Castelo do Mar on the recommendation of her uncle who handled the day shift.

Something was off, he knew. Simone Sable’s travels were as sporadic as his own, no clear path obvious. She was divorced with no other family besides her uncle, no apparent ties to any particular group or medical association, and even her letters of reference seemed fairly . . . generic.

Pine tapped the screen at the empty time. “There,” he murmured to himself. “Something happened _there_.”

But it was a distraction too, he knew, a way to not think about her playful commands. As a doctor she would be used to giving such, Pine thought. And yet . . . she hadn’t done so with the patient in the Concha suite. Her tone then had been soothing and pleasant, not . . . imperious.

No, that wasn’t quite right either, Pine thought. Her tone with him had been warmer than that. Almost sensually intimate.

He sighed, rubbing his chin. At the moment he had enough to deal with, including Sheikh Saeed Bin Rasheed, and his entourage who were due to occupy the entire set of suites in the north wing. There was also an ongoing issue with the heating on the lower floors, and one of the elevators was shorting out on a regular basis. Given all this on a full moon, Jonathan Pine knew he could expect more than his share of problems for the night. He buzzed for Lucia.

She bustled into his office, all four feet nine inches of her, and looked at him expectantly. Pine liked his assistant, who was older and Basque and tougher than concrete despite her pixie appearance.

“Rasheed,” he began. “Our returning . . . lecher. Please have all maids work those suites in pairs, and make sure any room service requests are filled by male wait staff for the duration of the sheikh’s stay. I expect if he doesn’t already have female companionship when he arrives, he’ll probably arrange for some through various . . . agencies. Have the doormen keep track discreetly.”

Lucia nodded, tapping a note into her mobile with her two-inch red nails. “Oh yes. Who else should be notified, Jonathan—Chef Johannes?”

“Yes, and send a note to our associates at PSP as a precaution.”

She made a face. “I pray to God there will be no arrests this time!”

“That makes two of us,” Pine agreed. “Can you think of any other preventative measures?”

“I’ll let a few of the better clubs know our guest is back in town, and I think a word to the doctors Sable would be wise.”

“I’ll do that myself,” Pine murmured, glad of the opportunity. “In the meantime . . .”

“In the meantime, I’ll deal with these,” Lucia rolled her eyes and waved her mobile. “By the arrows of San Sebastian every time he visits something happens.”

“Not on my watch,” Pine intoned. “Not if I can help it.”

Down in the medical office, Pine found Adam Sable reading, his shaggy silver head bent over what looked to be an Agatha Christie novel. Looking up, the man smiled. “Jonathan! Heard Simone stitched you up a few days ago; let’s have a look.”

“Yes,” Pine held out his hand. “Has she come in yet? I needed to talk to the both of you.”

“I don’t think so . . . ooh, jagged,” Adam murmured, peeling back the bandage and peeking under it. “What did you do, get in a fight with a can opener?”

“Metal corner of a steamer trunk, actually,” Pine replied. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s a good stitching job,” Adam admitted re-wrapping the wrist. “So why talk to us?”

“Sheikh Saeed Bin Rasheed.”

“Shit!” Adam growled. “I thought we were _done_ hosting that pompous old prick. When’s he due in?”

“Tonight."

“Goddamn it!” Adam slammed his novel shut and shook his head. “The man’s in his mid-sixties and already his medical file is huge; blood pressure, previous heart surgeries, Viagra abuse . . .”

“Adam, we’re on it,” Pine assured him. “I just wanted to make sure Simone calls for an escort if she needs to go to those suites.”

Adam nodded and turned to his desktop. “Damned straight. I’d better pull up his prescriptions of record and start giving the cardiac wing of de Egas Moniz the heads up. Why can’t he pick some _other_ resort to infest?”

“He’s on notice,” Pine replied. “Anyway, pass the word to Simone to page me if she gets called to those suites.”

“I will,” Adam assured him grimly. “I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

For nearly a week nothing happened, and Jonathan found himself holding his breath every time he clocked in, wondering each night if this would be the one that brought the disaster. But apparently the Sheikh—a bearded roly-poly figure in a thawb and keffiyeh--had been preoccupied with the ModaLisboa, visiting the fashion shows and collecting both models and Spring lines in bunches. 

“Apparently he’s shopping for his wives and daughters, who are staying at home in the Emirate,” Lucia told Pine as yet another huge delivery of goods arrived at Castelo du Mar. “And because he needs company . . .”

“He treats _himself_ to the models,” Pine made a face. “Charming.”

“Frankly his eldest, Kamal, is more of a problem,” Lucia reminded her boss. “That one’s been thrown out of nearly every bar he’s gone to, and Francesca tells me his room service bill is in the thousands now.”

“How much longer is Fashion Week?” Pine asked, but before Lucia could answer his mobile pinged.

_Need to deliver indapamide upstairs. Can you come?_

_Yes._ Pine typed. He gave his assistant a brief explanation and made his way to the elevators, feeling a tingle of anticipation at seeing Simone again.

She was already there, this time in a long sweater-dress of taupe, pharmacy bag in hand. Pine saw her expression brighten when she saw him and that made him smile in return as he closed the distance between them.

“How’s the hand?” Sable wanted to know, glancing at his wrist.

He held it up. “Recovering. Your uncle checked your work.” The elevator chimed and the doors rolled open; they stepped inside.

Sable made a little face. “His prerogative I suppose. So I’m delivering this only because I’d prefer the sheikh and his men NOT come down to my office. So far the maids have sent me phone pictures of the various drugs they’ve seen in the suite bathrooms, and most of them are ED medications, although I’m concerned about the little bottle of what looked like Rohypnol.”

Pine frowned, caught between concern over the drugs and concern over the privacy and hospitality law, but Sable shook her head. “I’ve no intention of snooping or confiscating anything; the photos are safely stored away. I just wanted you to be aware of them.”

“Smart,” he murmured. “We’ve had only one reported incident of . . . inappropriate contact so far.”

“With the staff, you mean. Have you been keeping track of the . . . guests?”

“Yes,” Pine told her softly. “So far nothing non-consensual.”

The elevator stopped and dinged; they stepped out and turned to the double doors at the end of the short hall. Pine knocked and called out, “Room service.”

After a long pause the door opened and large man in grubby shorts and an ‘Eu Amo Lisboa’ tee-shirt beckoned them in. Pine noted that although the suite was clean, a faintly seedy atmosphere lingered, and the men clustered around the wide screen television were glued to the football match there. One of them rose up and sauntered over, eyeing the doctor in a way that annoyed Pine instantly.

“The blood pressure prescription for his highness,” Sable murmured, holding out the bag. “Is he here?”

“My father is napping,” the man told them, reaching for the bag. “Why don’t you stay with _us_ , pretty lady?”

“I’m afraid we _both_ have our duties to return to,” Pine intoned, slipping a hand to Sable’s back. He kept his voice as neutral as he could.

The sheik’s son shrugged, and then cocked his head, his gaze sharpening as he licked his lips. “Wait . . . I have seen _you_ before,” he told Sable lewdly. “Yes? In Paris.”

Pine felt her spine tense under his fingers, but she spoke lightly. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“No, I am _sure_ of it. Years ago. In the Garden of Paradise,” the man responded, his expression shifting to something slightly wolfish. “Being _spanked_.”

“Excuse me,” Pine growled, “I’m afraid you are mistaken sir-- the doctor and I need to leave. Please pass on the prescription to your father.”

He carefully steered Sable and guided her away, the sound of the man’s chuckles behind them as they slipped out of the suite. Pine wasn’t aware of how quickly he was walking until he realized he was nearly dragging the doctor with him to the elevator. “I’m sorry about that, Simone. I think it would be better if I brought up any other prescriptions myself rather than have you further exposed to that sort of _crass_ and _baseless_ insinuation.”

Sable’s expression was stony. “Probably for the best . . . considering he’s right.”

It took several long seconds for that to register, and Pine nearly stumbled into the elevator when the doors opened. Sable pressed the button and refused to meet his gaze, which meant the atmosphere in the booth was both chilly and awkward. The car dropped several floors before Pine finally growled, “you need to explain yourself.”

“My office,” she told him and led the way out. 

He followed her, waiting until they were both behind the medical office door before blurting out, “Simone, what the _hell_ was that all about?”

“Sit,” she ordered, her voice husky, her gaze intense. Pine slowly lowered himself into the visitor’s chair. Sable stepped closer, catching his chin in her hand; her palm was warm and he fought a shiver. Leaning down, she spoke again, her voice softer, slower. “Close your eyes. Do as I say.”

He closed his eyes. When she pulled her hand away, Pine wanted to swallow but didn’t. He waited for her to speak, but the silence stretched on. When he finally started to clear his throat, she spoke again, the heat of her breath against the side of his face. “Do you _get_ it now? You’re bright, Pine, and a man of the world; surely this isn’t new to someone like you.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a wary sidelong glance. “Games.”

“Some call it that,” Simone agreed, not moving away. “Everyone plays them to a certain degree; it’s a healthy part of human nature and sexuality. Half of what those louts are doing up in that suite probably revolve around little power plays.”

“So you’re a . . .” he couldn’t bring himself to say it, and the look on his face made her chuckle, her warm breath tickling his ear.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’m not.”

“That sounds . . .” he wanted to say ‘intriguing’ but came out with, “complicated.”

“More than you know,” she sighed, and straightened up again, breaking the intensity between them. “My past is my business, and I hope we can keep it that way. Once the Sheikh and his company leave all the better for everyone concerned.”

“He _recognized_ you,” Pine shot back. “Christ, does your _uncle_ know?”

“No,” Sable admitted, “and there’s no reason to inform him. Jonathan, I’m not ashamed of my . . . inclinations, but they’re personal, not something that affects my work or job here.”

Pine felt a surge of anger flare through him and under that, murkier heat of lust and apprehension. “What was the Garden of Eden?”

Sable gave a long sigh. “I think you can guess, although you won’t find any mention of it on the internet, even after all this time.”

His mobile chirped; irritated at the interruption, Pine pulled it out and read the text. “Damn. I’ve got to go. But we . . .” he rose and gave Sable a straight glare, “we are not _done_ here.”

“Well now that depends . . . are _you_ taking charge, or am _I_?” she purred in a soft, direct challenge. 

He wavered, caught by the glitter of raw heat in her eyes, by the way his body surged towards her before he caught himself and reached behind for the door. Outside Pine scrubbed his face with one hand and strode down the hall, trying to concentrate on gracious hospitality and not on the way his prick throbbed in his trousers.

*** *** *** 

He didn’t catch her before the end of the night and by the time he left, Pine found himself too agitated to go straight home. Instead he made his way down to the public beach, looking out at the dark waves as he had a rare cigarette and considered matters.

Games.

He’d . . . dabbled. Nearly everyone had, Pine knew. Your first girlfriend or two, you played around, pretended things, thought you were the only ones to ever get off on kinky shit. Mostly they indulged you after the first few times, and later lovers generally didn’t have quite the patience or interest for that sort of play.

And yet . . . and yet the initial heat was still there, he admitted to himself. The deep thrill of anticipation, of sweet, tight . . . _control_. Pine sucked harder on the Silk Cut, letting the smoke burn his mouth. He remembered Cathy, and the night he’d wrapped her stockings around her wrists, how she’d squirmed under him, pliant and whimpering.

It still got him hard, even now, years later. 

Pine liked sex as much as any testosterone-fueled male and he’d never had any trouble finding partners wherever he worked. All a matter of discretion and common sense of course: never anyone under-age or incapacitated; always with the understanding that the relationship had a time limit with no promises implied. A free and easy string of affairs that satisfied the needs of the body without compromising emotional conditions.

Harsh perhaps in the face of it, but Pine usually didn’t mind. He liked being free to go or stay at any job, any city or country. He preferred keeping that little distance from people and staying in charge. If life seemed lonely at times all he had to do was give notice and move on, find himself another resort with a new set of faces and situations and opportunities.

And In between encounters he could simply accommodate himself. Certainly he’d always had abundant fantasies, and Pine had always assumed his were . . . variations on a theme, as it were. Every man had wicked dreams when the lights went out, erotic fantasies never meant to be shared. And if those sensual musings centered on a bit _more_ than just fucking, well . . . that was private.

Anyone could fuck, Pine knew as he finished the last of the Silk Cut. But not everyone could handle getting there through the long, slow route.

Maybe not even _himself_ , he thought bitterly.

*** *** ***

By the end of the Sheikh’s stay, nearly everyone at Castelo Do Mar was thoroughly sick of him and his entourage. The only light moment was when the eldest son lost his wallet and it was turned in to the main desk. Pine took out one of the credit cards and used it to pay the room service bill before returning the wallet to Kamal Ben Rasheed later in the evening.

The Sheikh’s son took it from Pine with barely a grunt of thanks, and then gave him a knowing look. “That doctor . . . she’s still around?”

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Pine managed as blandly as he could. 

“Because she was _some_ thing back then,” came the gloat. “At the end of that night her round little ass was red as a _cherry!_ ”

Pine fought the urge to bare his teeth. “Good night, sir.” He turned and left the suite, keeping his temper as best he could, pacing his way back to the elevator and pounding the buttons with far more force than necessary. In the polished brass of the car Pine caught sight of himself and took a deep breath.

He stepped out in the lobby, squaring his shoulders before making his way to the hotel bar, zeroing in on Sable as she sat with her seltzer, tapping something on her phone. She looked up as Pine dropped himself into the seat opposite her, her expression mild.

“I want answers,” he told her in a low voice.

“You may ask me two questions,” Sable replied, shifting so her full attention was on him, “this time that is. You look . . . angry.”

“I had to return Kamal Ben Rasheed’s wallet this evening and he took the opportunity to ask about you again,” Pine admitted. “Apparently you make quite an impression on him years ago.”

“Mostly for the wrong reasons,” Sable sighed. “That one just _enjoys_ violence against women. Jonathan . . . put your hand around my wrist. Please.”

He slid his hand over, easily encircling it, and the heat of her skin surprised him. Pine tightened his grip and a second later her pleasured gasp sent a strange shiver down his spine and straight through his cock.

“Squeeze,” Sable urged in a husky whisper. “ _Harder._ You won’t hurt me. Make me _feel_ it.”

As requested, Pine did, looking at how his fingers held her hand down on the table, feeling the delicate bones there. Her breathing made him glance up, and the sight of her half-lidded eyes and parted lips sent another hot jolt through him.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, her voice shaking now, “Sometimes _this_ is what I like. Helpless because I _choose_ to be, _want_ to be, especially with someone who knows it, and uses it. Uses _me._ ”

Her voice sank into his ear, stirred the murky desires in his brain. Pine swallowed, and forced himself to let go. He carefully unwrapped his fingers from her wrist and slowly pulled his hand away, striving for calm even though the heat imprint of her lingered on his fingertips.

Sable turned her hand up and checked her pulse. “Accelerated.”

She looked at him; Pine held her glittering gaze, his teeth clenched behind his lips, fighting his erection.

“Ask,” Sable told him.

“ _Why_?” it blurted out of him and Pine leaned back in the chair, looking around quickly before turning to face her again.

“I don’t know,” Sable admitted. “There are theories and ideas, everything from genetic pre-disposition to old traumas but in the end all I know is that it’s what I need. Not all the time, but enough of the time that I’m . . . different.”

He shook his head, “I don’t understand it.”

“Welcome to my world. Sometimes I want someone like you to pin me down and take me; sometimes I want someone like you to tie up and torment. I’m bi-sexually polar I suppose. Ebb and flow, bottom and top.”

“I can’t ask my questions here,” Pine told her, his frustration tempered with a hint of amusement. “Not after a . . . _moment_ like that. It’s . . .” 

“. . . complicated,” she finished for him. “I know. You’re not obligated to.”

“I _need_ answers,” Pine shot back. “I . . . I’m not sure why, but I _do._ ”

At that moment Lucia stepped into the bar and made a beeline to them, note in hand; the mood broke.

Sable rose from the table and managed a little smile. “Just leaving . . . or is that for me?”

“Oh, no, this is for Jonathan,” Lucia smiled back. “Unless _you’d_ like to deal with a limousine full of drunk orthodontists, Doctor Sable.”

“Pass,” she laughed, and strode off. Pine reached for the note, glad of the distraction. Lucia walked with him back to the main desk.

“Only two of the passengers are ours; should we shuttle the others out, or call their hotels for pickups?”

“If they’re already in the limo, we might as well take them ourselves,” Pine sighed, pushing the last fifteen minutes into a darker corner of his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

The memory kept re-playing in his mind at odd moments through the rest of the night, an erotic little earworm, he thought with frustration. The feel of Simone’s wrist, the sound of her voice urging him on . . . a small thing but one that kept sending a surge through him, keeping him on edge.

Pine tried to remember the last time he’d fucked anyone. It had been months, he realized after searching his memory; a willowy blonde from Norway, travelling with her tour group. Pretty and delicious . . . and not, he realized, particularly memorable. Flirtatious chatter; a complimentary drink; and a discreet off-duty Saturday night together in the Sereia suite.

Fairly typical of his style, he mused. Pragmatic.

He clocked out and changed, making his way down to the garage for his motorcycle, wheeling it out and starting it some distance from the hotel. The ride through the damp streets was quiet; only a few fishermen were out in this ghostly hour before dawn. Pine rode the miles up the steep hills, turning into the tiny lane at the top of Estrada do Penedo and winding his way down to the little house there.

Pine parked the bike and stepped inside, aware of the heavyset tabby circling his feet impatiently. “You’re not my cat,” he reminded the animal, who as always, ignored this.

The house had once been a small stable, and even now held the scent of hay at times. Pine had chosen it over other apartments closer to the city and even though it had only the bare necessities, he preferred its isolation. The cat waited for him to open the tin of sardines, and accepted one dangled out to him. “Seriously, this is getting expensive,” Pine sighed. “Vá embora, gato.”

The cat continued to ignore him, making Pine smile. He set the tin down on the wooden floor, picked up the older empty tin that was there, and took it out to the garbage can at the end of the dirt driveway. As he did so, his mobile vibrated.

Not a familiar number, but he answered anyway. “Pine.”

“You have one question left,” Sable murmured, her voice slightly distorted by static. “Thought you might like a chance to ask it before we both turn in for the day.”

Pine shifted the mobile to his other ear, looking out over the hills of scrub and olive trees just beginning to be touched by daylight. 

“Considerate of you,” he murmured back. 

“I’m thorough about follow-ups,” Sable admitted. “Mostly because I have a question for you as well.”

That sounded interesting, and Pine made his way back into the house. “Did you want to ask yours first?”

“We started with you,” she replied. “Ask away.”

“All right. Why am _I_ . . . intrigued?” Pine had his suspicions but wondered what Sable would say. Back inside, he settled himself on the battered sofa, sprawling out on the worn cushions.

“I can’t say for sure, but I suspect you’ve got some kinky wiring yourself,” she purred. “I also think you already know that. I’ve put you to the test a few times and it’s clear to me that with a few lessons you’d be a natural at what _ever_ side of the game you wanted to play, Jonathan.”

He drew in a breath, aware of the heated flush crossing his face. “That sounds _very_ much like a come-on.”

“Not really. That’s part of the problem: it’s not about sex. At least, not always. Porn always gets it wrong in that regard. Games are about power, and control, and yes, those are very sexy concepts, but there is a difference. I’m only mediocre at sex; I’m very _good_ at games.”

Pine smothered a little groan, feeling his mouth twist into a smirk. Once again his prick was stiffening up under his slacks. “Jesus Christ, I can’t _believe_ I’m having this conversation. And somehow, I doubt sex with you would be mediocre.”

The cat jumped up to join him on the sofa, butting his head against Pine’s hip. Lazily he reached over to stroke the tabby’s fur.

“I stand by my self-assessment,” came her soft reply. “But it does lead to my question of sorts.”

“Ask away,” he shot back. 

She said nothing for a moment, and he heard her soft breathing over the line. Then Sable spoke, slowly. “You know what _I_ am, and you know what you _might_ be, so now, Mr. Pine . . . what do you _want_ out of this? Because while you may think you know what you’re getting into—you don’t.”

“I . . .” he began, and let the reply drift away as he absorbed her words. She was right, Pine realized; he had no idea what all this was, what it meant. And yet there was something enticing here, some element that drew him in a way nothing else had in a very long time. “I want . . . to . . . learn,” he finally sighed. “From _you_.”

The tabby had curled himself up into a lumpy cushion at his hip, and golden sunlight filtered by the curtains began to light the room. At his ear Pine heard a pleased sound.

“A big step. You’ll need time to think it over, so I suggest this: go get laid this weekend. No, no, don’t protest, just listen to me,” Sable told him, her voice rich and amused. “Go fuck someone sweet and accommodating, and spend some time with all the sensations in that. Savor it, but see if it satisfies all your needs. If it does, then there won’t be anything I can teach you. But if it doesn’t—and you’ve got to be honest with yourself— _then_ we can talk about lessons, tyro. Because the only way you’re really going to _know_ if you’ve got that sweet dark hint of deviancy in your soul is to test it.”

Pine didn’t know what to say. Her directive floored him and even though it made a twisted sort of sense, it sent shock and desire in quick jolts through his system. “Are you _always_ so . . . fucking blunt?” he finally managed with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Yes,” Sable replied, and she let her voice drop into a slightly deeper, huskier register, “Because I think somewhere deep inside you, in a place you don’t talk about, you _want_ me on my knees and quivering at your every velvet command, my Master.”

“Chrrrrrrrrrisssst,” he moaned involuntarily, his free hand running down his thigh while the one clutching the mobile tightened around it.

He heard her soft laugh. “Have a good weekend, Pine, and don’t get lubricant on your stitches.” 

She hung up.

Pine let the mobile drop from his hand, and shifted his touch to his cock, gripping it through the cloth as he closed his eyes, his breathing harsh.

God. Those words . . . the _image_ they conjured up . . . He undid his fly, stroking himself to full rigidity in less than a minute. Saliva, not his preferred choice but Pine didn’t care, his grip rough.

_My Master . . ._

He gasped, pressure building, _pleasure_ building as those taunting words of hers echoed in his head. Quick and filthy imaginings flooded his mind as Pine let himself play those words over again. Yes, oh yes God _yes_ he fucking _did_ want her on her knees . . . quivering . . . oh he’d show her exactly . . .

He came, hard, the sullen spurts in thick strands, slick and hot down the front of his jeans. Pine stroked himself a few moments more wringing out the last little vestiges of pleasure and finally drew in a shaky breath, aware of how hard his pulse hammered in his head, how he tasted blood from his bitten lower lip.

Weightless. Pine slumped back in a daze as his body slowly settled into itself once more. He drifted, not asleep but not awake in the traditional sense either. He couldn’t focus on anything, and gave up trying after a while. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but gradually Pine hoisted himself off the sofa and made his way to the primitive bathroom where he showered, using all the hot water for the longest shower possible.

He climbed into bed, and slept heavily.

*** *** *** 

By the time Monday night came, Pine knew. He’d made the attempt to follow the doctor’s directive; in theory it should have been easy. The girl at the beachside café had been giving him the flirtatious eye for weeks; likewise an elegant fellow shopper at the Tivoli Forum had made it clear she wouldn’t mind spending a lazy afternoon in bed with him. 

But when the corner-turning moment came in both cases, Pine didn’t follow up, didn’t truly feel any urge to do so. He finished his coffee alone, and bid his fellow shopper goodbye with a courtly kiss to her hand before heading back to his little hilltop home.

Pine realized it wasn’t really about making a choice, but about facing a facet of himself, and that left him staring at his reflection in the glass doors of Castelo Do Mar as he walked in that evening. He felt rested but alert too, and when Lucia caught sight of him, she gave him a suspicious look. “No smugness, Jonathan. That brings bad luck,” she told him.

“Lucia,” he chided with a small smile, “That’s the Basque in you.”

“Superstition has kept me alive all this time,” she pointed out. “That and ten cups of coffee a day.”

“No wonder you work nights,” Pine commented playfully. “How full is the house?”

“Laudorio Jesus the sheikh has left,” Lucia told him. “It’s going to take Francesca a week to get those suites back up to standard though. In the meantime we’re at eighty percent capacity with the Film Festival around the corner.”

“Tell Paulo in the bar to double stock,” Pine murmured. “Any leftovers from Day?”

“Guest with a dog up in the penthouse,” Lucia sniffed. “Needs someone to take her Fifi to peepee at seven tonight.”

Pine laughed. “Charming. Well then, to work.”

He went through his usual routines, making it a point not to rush, not to let himself get distracted from the hundreds of little decisions, duties and detritus that composed his job. Pine thought it would be difficult but everything went smoothly all the way to his dinner break at two am. At that point,he casually made his way down to the medical suite, his pace quickening as he approached Sable’s office and rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Come in,” came the call. He stepped in to find Simone on a stepstool doing an inventory of supplies in one of the cabinets. She caught sight of him and paused, giving him her full attention. “Mr. Pine.”

“Doctor Sable,” he returned, feeling slightly breathless. On the stool she was several inches taller than he was, and tonight her dark hair was in a French twist. 

She shifted her clipboard to her hip. “You look . . . rested.”

“Yes,” he agreed, holding her gaze. “I was wondering if you’d like dinner with me. I think we have things to . . . talk about.”

Sable cocked her head. “How do you feel about caldeirada?”

The seaside café catered to the late night strollers who wanted to look at the Belem Tower at night. Pine had passed the place a few times but had never stopped in before this; the scents drifting around were heavenly. Sable led the way in and found them a table on back balcony. She rolled out two orders for caldierada in flawless Portuguese, and added a request for a bottle of wine before looking at Pine. 

“Sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” Pine assured her. “So.”

She leaned back in her chair, looking at him. “You’re like a racehorse, you know.”

“I am?” Amused now, Pine raised his eyebrows.  
“You are. All long lines and muscle, bright-eyed and eager, fine-boned and under that, full of restlessness to get going,” Sable assessed. “It’s going to be fun to put a bridle on you, sir.”

He felt his face heat up. “Breaking me might be a harder job than you think,” Pine warned, his pulse quickening at her flirtatious tone.

“I’m sure,” she agreed. Leaning forward now, Sable took a breath, her tone changing to a more serious one. “From the minute you walked into my office tonight I could see you’ve decided, so I need you to tell me, officially. Are you satisfied, Pine, or do you truly want . . . more?”

This time he didn’t blink. Matching her move, he came forward himself, bracing his forearms on the outside of hers, boxing her in a little. A small aggression, but firm. “Truly? I. want. _More._ Oh Mistress Sable.”

Even in the dim light he saw her pupils darken, saw her tongue flick out to wet her bottom lip. Sable held his gaze, allowing herself to smile.

“And they’re off,” she murmured. “All right, tyro; it’s time to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been years since anything was required reading for Pine; the last book he’d studied seriously was the Marriot Corporation Manual more than ten years earlier. Not that he was complaining, but he thought the list of titles Doctor Sable had recommended might require a new shelf at his home.

“Just those first two are mandatory,” she told him lightly. “The others are supplemental in case you want another perspective or richer background.”

“Will I be tested?” he arched an eyebrow at her. They’d finished their dinners and were lingering over the last of the wine now, both of their mobiles out as they shared notes.

“Field-tested,” Sable told him. “Eventually. I already have various . . . tools.”

“Tools,” Pine echoed, enjoying the way she went pink in the face. It might have been the wine, but he was fairly sure it was more than that.

“Fine. Accoutrements,” she corrected herself.

“And what would these . . . accoutrements consist of?” Pine murmured softly. “I’m . . . curious.”

“All in good time,” came the little chide. “You’ve got reading to do, and I should probably brush up myself. Oh, and we need to do a little shopping as well.”

“What do we need?”

“Hmmm. A candle, a pack of playing cards and one other item I’ll pick up myself. Is silver all right with you?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Pine pursed his mouth. “And a disconcerting one.”

“Set your mind at ease,” Sable assured, waving the waitress over and handing a credit card to her. Pine protested, but she shot him a firm look. “No. It’s _my_ party tonight, Mr. Pine; you can pick up the tab another time.”

When they reached the empty hotel garage and parked Sable shot him a sidelong glance as they sat for a moment in her car. “Before the _when_ or the _how_ of all this, we need to consider the _where_ , Mr. Pine. Certainly not either one of our homes; at least not yet. Neutral territory would be smart for our first lessons.”

“And _not_ here at the hotel,” Pine intoned, watching her nod in agreement. “Although it could be another, yes? I’ve got several comps owed to me all over Lisbon.”

She considered this as she unbuckled her seat belt. “That sounds as if it might work, yes. So as I see it, we each have some reading to do before next Saturday night.”

“And if I have . . . questions before then?” he teased, climbing out of the car. They made their way to the elevator, footsteps loud in the cavernous concrete around them.

“Text me,” Sable replied. “All right, back to counting gauze packets and tramadol bottles.”

“Such glamorous lives we lead,” Pine teased, pleased when she chuckled.

*** *** ***   
The week was an interesting blend of calm and chaos as Pine dealt with raucous parties, misplaced key cards, a blazing row between a married couple that resulted in several broken windows, and of course, the dog. 

Out of it all, Pine didn’t really blame the dog. Had it been one of the typical little purse pups so common to the rich his constant attempts to run away might not have mattered, but Senora Raisa’s Ivan was a Caucasian Shepherd and resembled not so much a dog as shaggy and stubborn pony. His sheer size intimidated the staff, and his enthusiasm made him difficult to control; Pine had watched Ivan happily drag one of the younger porters across the slick terracotta tiles, the poor boy looking as if he were water-skiing in his smooth soled dress shoes.

Naturally the one to step in was Lucia. She caught the lead, disentangled it from Fredo’s hand and spoke sharply to the dog, who whimpered. “Behave, you!” she chided. “We’ll go outside, but only when you behave!”

Oddly, the dog seemed to understand her, or at least was intimidated by her tone, and the sight of tiny Lucia leading a cowed dog nearly as tall as she was left Pine fighting his laughter until they’d gone out the front doors.

Fredo joined in. “Christo! It was like being hooked to a rocket!”

“Well I think Ivan has met his match,” Pine pointed out, wiping his eyes. “Please have Senora Raisa ask for Lucia from now on—at least in the evenings.”

“Si Senor Pine, si!”

_So there is D &S and B&D?_ he texted, late Wednesday night.

The reply came a moment later. _Yes. What are your feelings on the latter?_

Pine felt his mouth twist up as he considered her question. Bondage . . . well he certainly didn’t mind doing it to someone else. Having it done to him . . . perhaps not so much. He’d been cuffed before, during his military service years and the loss of freedom had been a sobering and unpleasant experience.

And yet . . . the thought of _Simone_ doing it . . . of being controlled by _her_ . . .

_Conflicted,_ he typed in. _Prefer active to passive. At least for B._

Her tongue emoji made Pine smirk. _And the D?_

Pausing, he stared at his phone as Kamal Ben Rasheed’s words about her ass came back to him. 

Damn it, he reached to discreetly readjust himself before typing again. _Not sure either way. You?_

_I have . . . preferences,_ came the reply moments later. _NSFW._

“You devious minx,” Pine growled to himself, now much more uncomfortable. He fought the flare of heat that the vision of spanking her brought, tried to push away the idea she would _want_ such a thing.

Would want _him_ to do such a thing to her.

“Fuck it,” Pine sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough to concentrate on the monthly budget sheet in front of him as it was. He hit the dial button for her newly entered number, his mouth suddenly dry when Sable answered.

“Yes . . . Master?”

He swallowed, shooting a look at his closed office door. “Say. Say that again.”

“Yes sir, Master,” Sable purred into the mobile. “Like that?”

“It’s . . . intoxicating,” Pine admitted, his own voice a little shaky. “I should _not_ like it as much as I do.”

She gave a little pleased sound. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, sir. Whatever you order me to call you, I will, with delight.”

“You really _mean_ that, don’t you?” Pine murmured, his tone suddenly serious. “If I told you to call me ‘darling Master’ you’d do it without a single giggle.”

“Mmmm, yes, darling Master, yes,” she responded, her own voice slower. “I am your slave.”

Pine was aware his breathing had gotten harsher. The thought of her on the other end of the line, waiting for him to give an order— _any_ order—left him dizzy, achy, hungry.

“So if I was to tell you to take off your panties and go without them for the rest of the night . . .” Pine ground out slowly, “You. would.”

“Immediately, my darling Master,” came her coo, and he heard the soft shifting of cloth over his mobile. Pine closed his eyes, fighting a quiver.

Christ. He palmed himself through his trousers, feeling reckless. “Put them in your purse.”

“Yes, darling Master.” 

Pine heard her heels as she walked across the medical suite, heard the door of the personal effects locker open. He fought a strangled chuckle and stroked his prick again through his trousers.

“Done, my darling Master. What else would you like me to take off?” Sable murmured, but before Pine could do more than draw in a quick breath, a loud rap on his door startled him badly.

He juggled and then dropped his mobile, diving for it and fishing it up again from the floor as he strove for a sense of calm he certainly didn’t feel. “Uhn, yes?”

“Jonathan the elevator repairman is here,” Lucia stuck her head around the door, “finally! Can you handle it while I deal with the kitchen deliveries?”

“Yes, yes,” Pine assured her, glad of a desk between them. “I’ll be . . . right there.” 

She slipped out again, and he brought the phone to his ear. “Simone?”

“Here,” she replied, her voice calm. “Sorry about the interruption; those can be disorienting, I know. Are you all right?”

“I’m—“ He thought about bluffing, and chose not to. “Actually, I’m hard as hell and annoyed,” Pine admitted with a humorless laugh. 

“I’m frustrated myself, so you’re not alone,” she commiserated. “It’s torture to be pulled out of that head space so abruptly.”

“Yes,” Pine agreed, feeling some of his irritation fade. “But I’m grateful for . . . the test run, I suppose.”

“Me too,” Sable replied. “Go on; we’ll talk later.”

He listened to her disconnect, took a deep breath, and steeled himself to deal with hydraulics of a different sort. 

An hour later that Pine found himself wondering if she’d ever put her panties back on, and groaned.

*** *** ***

_P: Do we need a safeword?_

_S: Yes. Something not likely to be said in intimacy, like toaster, or Chicago._

_P: Now I’m trying to picture an erotic scenario involving toasters from Chicago._

_S: It’s a good thing I have lots of patience. Shall we use jaguar?_

_P: yes. Jaguar will work. And names. There was an entire chapter in the Varrin book on names and the importance of. I never knew these little details mattered so much._

_S: It all about creating an atmosphere and choices are significant. For example, I will never permit anyone to call me ‘cunt.’_

_P: Gah. No, NOT acceptable._

_S: Some out there don’t mind but I do. You may call me many things, but never that._

_P: Toy, or Pet?_

_S: Whatever strikes you as right. Whatever fits the mood or moment. That goes for what you want to be called as well. Do we have a location yet?_

_P: Yes, actually. The Epic Sana?_

_S: Lovely. Saturday, around seven?_

_P: See you there._

*** *** ***  
The suite overlooking the pool was probably a fairly nice one, but Pine had no idea of what any of it actually looked like because all his attention was currently on the woman next to him, who carried her coat over her arm and a small weekend bag on the other. He followed Sable inside, taking a careful moment to slip the não perturbe sign on the door, fighting the sweet knot of tension deep in his stomach.

Not fight, not flight, but still that sense of being on the edge had him watching her closely. “Will this do?”

“Oh I think so,” Sable nodded, turning to meet his gaze. She licked her bottom lip and he realized she was as nervous as he was, which gave him a reason to smile. He set his own bag down and came over to her, lightly gripping her shoulders.

“Stop. We can’t _both_ be nervous,” Pine told her in a light tease. “You at least have the benefit of experience here.”

“Doesn’t make it any less thrilling each time,” came her retort, but she smiled back. “Okay, good. You’re right. So . . . let’s unpack and lay out our ground rules then. What side of the bed do you prefer?”

Whatever’s closest to the door.”

“Fair enough.” 

He finished unpacking first and watched Sable with interest as she neatly set out her toilette on the bathroom counter, and dropped a set of pajamas on her side of the bed; light green with what looked to be stripes of pink on them. Hardly the stuff of fantasy, but when she caught his look she shrugged. “For afterwards, when we both need decompression and sleep.”

Pine nodded. What he’d read had been fairly straightforward about the necessity of both parties to spend time together building trust and discussing the game. It made sense, although he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep much. Not with the tension coursing through him every time he looked at Sable.

Back in the living room, she pulled out the last items from her bag and he watched her set them on the coffee table there: a fat white candle and a book of matches; a pack of playing cards, and what looked to be a jeweler’s box.

“All right,” she murmured, gesturing to the sofa and sitting on it herself. “Time to talk about our expectations.”


	5. Chapter 5

He’d lost the coin toss.

He was starting to realize he didn’t mind, actually.

Her voice cooed in his ear. “Eyes closed, boy. Don’t open them again until I tell you to. What do you say?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Pine murmured, fighting the urge to smirk. Not out of embarrassment though; it just felt so . . . oddly right to say it. He could smell the wax of the candle, and knew it was still on the coffee table, putting a glow in the room even though he couldn’t see it at the moment.

He waited on his knees, letting himself hang in the moment, and when soft fingers carded his hair, Pine drew in a breath, aware of how magnified the sensation was. Her touch was gentle but not soothing, especially when it raked down to the back of his neck, pulling quickly on his curls and tipping his face up. His throat felt exposed and he swallowed in reaction.

“So cool, so always in control . . . not tonight, my boy,” she growled, the heat of her breath against his cheek. “Tonight you’re _my_ plaything and I want a good look at you. Unbutton your shirt.”

Without thinking he reached for his buttons, but a sharp smack on one hand made Pine flinch. 

“Ah-ah! _What_ do you need to say?”

“Y-yes Mistress,” he stammered, amazed again at how adrenaline traitorously surged through him. 

“Better. Now undo your shirt and pull it open,” came her little taunt. Pine clumsily undid the buttons, unsure if she was watching or not as he felt his skin pebble up under the cotton. Would she touch him? Was she watching?

God he wanted to peek; just a little while at the same time, the torment of not knowing put an edge to things. When he reached the bottom button, Pine hesitated.

“Slip it off those wide shoulders of yours, boy. Expose yourself,” came the amused command.

Feeling a little silly, Pine shrugged the top wide. What he didn’t expect was for a warm hand to come sliding across his torso, fingers gliding over the hard button of his right nipple, pinching it.  
He gasped as the needle of pain made his cock throb, and close to his ear Pine heard her laugh. “Someone’s excited. Sensitive? Answer me, boy.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Pine responded, his tone slightly dazed as her fingers kept circling the little nub, the sensations vibrating through him. The disorientation made him sway a tiny bit.

“Your skin,” she purred. “I always wondered what it looked like under those shirts and jackets. You look _delicious_ , boy. I want to take a _bite_ of you.”

He barely stopped the moan from escaping his lips, particularly when her other hand reached for his other nipple, tweaking it hard. Pine could tell she was standing in front of him now, and the desire to open his eyes nearly overwhelmed him as he balled his fists.

“Would you _like_ me to bite you?” she whispered, her breath against his mouth.

Pine didn’t have to think about it. “ _Please_ , Mistress,” he groaned back, quivering now, every inch of his skin alive and waiting, his cock straining against his trousers. 

He felt one of her hands slide up and over the muscles of his chest, settling on his shoulders, gently turning his head to one side. “Ooooh it might hurt,” she told him. “Maybe you need a little _pleasure_ too, my plaything.” The other hand slid down into his trousers, cupping his rigid shaft with strong, hot fingers. He hissed, and a moment later felt the exquisite sting of her teeth in the tender spot between neck and shoulder.

The sensual shock forced a deep groan from him, and Pine rocked against her hand, his strong frame shaking on his knees. The combination of the wet soft press of her mouth on his skin, the nip of her teeth stinging him, and the sweet squeeze of her fingers around his aching cock were too much, and within minutes Pine felt the unstoppable rush of orgasm surge forth in heated froth, saturating his trousers. In surprise he shuddered, but she wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, bracing him through his thrusts.“Oh you lovely boy, what a glorious mess you’ve made. I bet that felt wonderful, didn’t it?” she cooed. “My God you’ve a sexy toy.”

“Sh-sh-shit . . . !” Pine managed, his tone dazed, opening his eyes.

“Shhhhhh,” she told him, and gently released his softening prick, chuckling. “All right, we’re ending it now, so just relax . . . Just savor the sensations you’re feeling . . .”

She didn’t rush him, holding him for long minutes and Pine felt his rapid heartbeat begin to slow even as he managed to take a few deep breaths. When he lifted his head, he caught sight of Sable.

Her hair was down.

Pine had never seen it that way before, and the glossy raven fall of it halfway down her back suddenly mesmerized him. He wanted to brush his face against it, breath in whatever scent it held, play with the gleaming black strands.

She smiled at him. “Hey. Let’s . . . get you cleaned up.”

He wanted to say something but found he couldn’t; that words weren’t coming in the clumsy aftermath. Carefully Sable guided him to his feet and to the bathroom where she began to fill the tub.

After stripping him out of his clothes she urged him into the hot water and knelt at the side of the tub, keeping one soothing arm on his back. “Shhhhhhhhh . . . .”

Later, she helped him into clean boxers and brought him to the bed, slipping in next to him and taking him into her arms. Pine willingly slid into her embrace, feeling shy. The strange blend of emptiness and satiation left him speechless, and he realized what the phenomenon was.

Vulnerability. 

“I . . .” he tried. “It’s . . .”

In the dark, she laughed softly. “Yes,” she told him. “It is.”

*** *** *** 

“I still can’t believe how . . . _intense_ that was,” Pine told her a few hours later as they lay together in the dark. “Is it always like that?”

“Oh Jonathan,” she sighed. “You don’t know how primed you were. No, most people have to _work_ to get to that head space. A person has to get over the self-consciousness and embarrassment and learn to focus on the partner’s vibe . . . it takes months, sometimes years. And you were right _there_. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Pfft,” he mumbled. “Nearly everybody’s . . . experimented; that’s par for the course.”

“I suppose so. Still . . . you were a total delight.”

“Simone . . .” he felt his face redden and he lifted his head to better look at her. “You didn’t . . . I mean, it was all rather . . . one-sided,” he muttered. “I’d like to rectify that.”

She smiled at him. “Oh it wasn’t one-sided at all. You have no idea how much I enjoyed tormenting you, or how much I’m looking forward to doing it again.”

“But,” he persisted, “You didn’t . . .”

“No,” she agreed, “My focus was on you and that amazing submission of yours. You’re very sexy when you give your trust like that. If you’re worried that you _owe_ me an orgasm, stop right there, okay? That may be a part of our games in the future but for right now, this is more than I’d hoped for.”

He felt oddly pleased and embarrassed at the same time, pulling her to rest her head on his shoulder where he could play with her long black hair. “I still feel like a bit of a cad,” he confessed.

“If the feeling persists, maybe I ought to spank you,” Sable told him.

Pine laughed. “No.”

“Keep an open mind,” she chuckled. “I’m going to order some eggs and toast; would you like anything?”

He brightened. “Waffles.”

 

They had breakfast-dinner on the balcony, both of them barefoot in the night air. Pine kept glancing back into the suite, to the coffee table where the snuffed candle and playing cards sat. Catching one of his looks, Sable rose up and brought the pack over.

“I meant to do this earlier, but now’s as good a time as any.” Carefully she flipped through the deck, extracting the face cards and setting aside the rest of them. Out of the face cards, she pulled the kings and the queens out, laying them on the table by suit: diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs. 

“Codes,” Sable told Pine, who was watching inquisitively. “Diamonds stand for discomfort—handcuffs, being tied up, that sort of play. Hearts mean head games—teacher and student, policeman and suspect, butler and maid. Spades are for special fetishes like shoes and collars and corsets. Clubs . . . well to be clubbed is to be physical—slaps, spankings, light torture.”

Pine knew he must have looked slightly appalled by the last one because Sable gave a chuckle. “It’s all right; you know we certainly aren’t going to do anything we don’t want to do or don’t agree on before-hand. I simply wanted to give you your cards and take my own.”

Pine picked up the four kings, and riffled through them. “So if I’m the king then I’m . . . in charge?” He liked the idea immediately.

“If I go to my hotel mailbox and find an envelope with the king of spades in it,” Sable said slowly, “then I’ll know that next Saturday night I can expect to be wearing six inch red heels and possibly a rhinestone collar while I wait for you to give me orders, _Master._ ”

“ _Sold_ ,” Pine smirked, flipping the king of spades across his fingertips. “Er, wait. What happens if I find the queen of spades waiting in MY mailbox?”

“Then,” Sable waved a forkful of eggs at him, “I’d expect you shirtless in tight leather pants, of course. Or maybe I’ll doll you up in a thin silk kimono with nothing underneath. I can be . . . very creative.”

Pine blinked. “You’ve given this a lot of thought?” he tried not to sound accusing, but Sable ducked her head.

“A bit. Anyway, it’s an . . . elegant way of playing. Like the rituals of lighting the candle and putting on the ring.” She held up her hand and slipped the heavy silver signet off her index finger, setting it on the table between them. Pine picked it up, admiring the engraved ‘M’ on it. He slipped it onto his right pinky finger.

“So now I’m . . . your master,” he intoned, letting his voice stay low.

Sable drew in a breath. “Well the candle’s not lit, and we haven’t agreed to new boundaries, but . . . the ring . . . it’s how it starts, yes.”

Pine liked the feel of it, still warm from her finger, the way it caught what little light there was and threw glints. He slowly took it off and laid it back on the table, watching the tension drain out of Sable as he did so.

“Were you worried I was going to . . . make demands?” he asked in concern. “Simone?”

“A little,” she confessed apologetically. “We’ve already been through a fairly intense session tonight and I’m still . . . decompressing a bit. It’s your first game, Jonathan and my first in . . . well, nearly three years. I’m still savoring it.”

He nodded, understanding. The night still had that lovely otherworld feel, and part of him was loathe to know it was coming to an end. Already the grey light of dawn was beginning to lighten the sky. “Yes, I know precisely what you mean,” Pine murmured.

He stretched out on the bed, listening to Sable shower, and when she came out, Pine noted that her hair was up again, this time in a loose bun, and that she was fairly dressed up.

“Church,” she murmured to his inquiring look, “and then home. You’ll stay a while?”

“Church?” Pine repeated, confused.

“Yes well it is Sunday morning,” she pointed out gently. “And yes, I go to church. Haven’t been struck by lightning yet for what I do the night before,” came her tease.

He rose off the bed and padded over to her, putting his long arms around her and hugging her close. Sable gave a pleased sigh and hugged him back for a long moment before pulling away.

“All right. I’m leaving the candle and ring with you and I think I’ll be able to find us a nice place for Saturday if you’re . . . interested.”

“I am,” Pine assured her. “Very much so. And Simone . . .” Pine took her two hands and kissed each of them before murmuring, “thank you.”

She gave him that smile again before she left; the lovely lush garden one, and in the golden light of dawn, it dazzled him.


	6. Chapter 6

He took advantage of the hotel room, reading a bit more and then sleeping until checkout time. Back at his own home, Pine fed leftover bacon he’d smuggled out to the cat, who eyed it suspiciously before dragging the slices away. 

Pine felt marvelous. He went for a long run through the hills, enjoying the view of the Atlantic as he did so. The grand sweep of the ocean from the hilltops held a majesty that matched his mood, and he made it a point to hum as he headed back to work for an hour on bike maintenance before showering and making his weekly shopping at the Mercado-de-benfica. Pine picked his way through the fruit stands and bought his usual six tins of sardines from the leathery couple at the end of the fish stalls, listening to them chide him once again about not trying their cod.

By Monday night he was ready for nearly anything at Castelo Do Mar, and when Lucia trotted up to him, her expression worried, he smiled.

“Thank the saints you’re here!” she murmured. “We have warring factions checked in, Jonathan. The Velascos and the Costas, for that wedding on Friday.”

He nodded. “I thought Joachim and the Day staff were handling the reception?”

“Yes well it’s going to cross over to our shift since it’s starting at six,” Lucia pointed out. “And right now we have two families who frankly, hate each other’s guts. At least the two mamas do. Sylvie Velasco is already in the notes for housekeeping abuse and damages in the Bahamas and Venice, and Regina Costa has had assault charges filed _twice._ ”

Pine grimaced, following Lucia into his office where she showed him the computer screen. “Lovely. What about their husbands?”

“Costa’s divorced; she’s with her brother Arnulfo and her son, the groom, Paolo up in the Concha Suite, and the Velascos—Sylvie, her husband Benito, and their daughter Esmeralda are in the Sereia Suite.”

“And?” he prompted, seeing Lucia’s expression.

“Between them they’ve already gone through seven bottles of wine,” she sighed, “and it’s not even eight at night. I don’t want to lose that reception—it’s booked and catered and will bring us a lot of good publicity, Jonathon—but it’s going to be a _minefield_ to get to Friday without the police or an ambulance, that’s all I’m saying.”

He thought for a moment, and settled himself into his chair, fingers moving over the keyboard. “All right; complimentary spa packages for both mothers, complimentary golf and fishing packages for the uncle and husband. We can have our Paulo alert us if either family goes over the three bottle limit at the bar, and throw it back to Day when we can.”

“Better,” Lucia agreed, leaning over his shoulder. “Francesca already has two maids standing by, one for each suite. Jonathan, what happened to your neck?” 

Pine realized his collar had shifted to reveal a bit of bruising, and blushed. “Oh, I . . . it’s nothing.” He tugged his collar up.

Lucia rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Forget I asked; I don’t want to know.” But she lightly punched his shoulder in affection.

“I can see there’s no fooling you,” Pine mock-sighed. “It was wild and passionate sex. You know me, Lucia—under this suit beats the heart of a savage _animal_ who needs a firm hand.”

She laughed, the sound like a happy crow. “Pffft. I bet a can of beans fell out of your cupboard and hit you; it’s more likely.”

“Something like that,” Pine murmured, “Although I like _my_ explanation better.”

“Of course you would; you’re a _man_ ,” Lucia pointed out. “Now I have the fire inspection schedule here . . .”

*** *** ***

He had an excuse. 

Pine studied his wrist, aware that the gash was now fairly healed. It had been nearly three weeks after all. No reason to leave the stitches in any longer.

He checked his watch: nearly dinner break. Pine took a breath and told Marcella to keep an eye on the desk. She nodded absently and he slipped away, feeling a tiny bit of nervousness as he took the back hallway down to the medical suite.

Sable wasn’t there. Pine texted her. _I’ve come to see the doctor—where are you?_

The reply came several moments later. _Gym._

Pine pocketed his mobile and headed to the upper floor facilities via the freight elevator. He pushed open the frosted glass doors of the gym and looked around, spotting Sable on one of the treadmills, running at a moderate pace. Seeing her in shorts, a tank top and a ponytail was surprisingly nice, he thought, and headed towards her. 

She saw him, held up three fingers. Pine nodded, circling around the facility to give her time. The professional part of him took time to check that the facility was clean and that the towels were stocked but that was strictly habit. The only other person was a bored looking man lifting weights and admiring himself in the mirror; he gave Pine a nod before focusing on his biceps once more.

Finally Sable slowed and stepped off the treadmill, patting her face with a hand towel, pink and glowing. “Sorry; I sometimes sneak a workout when I can.”

“Not a lot of competition for the facilities at two in the morning,” he agreed, studying her and feeling a surge of pleasure in doing so. “I think this is more _skin_ than I’ve ever seen before.”

She flushed a bit more and shrugged. “Yes well, what can I do for you?”

A loaded question, even as it left her lips Sable smiled at him. Now it was his turn to blush, but he held up his wrist.

“Ah,” she agreed. “Yes, they’re ready to come out. I’ll meet you downstairs in about fifteen minutes then.”

Pine nodded and took his time leaving, working at maintaining a sense of managerly decorum as he strolled out the doors again, pacing himself.

“So how are you doing?” she asked, lightly swabbing his wrist, her focus on the antiseptic.

“I’m good. Very good,” Pine replied as he watched her. She’d put her hair back up into a twist this time, and her hands were cool against his skin.

“That’s good.” Her absent tone bothered him a bit, but Pine couldn’t tell if it was because she was concentrating on his hand or if she was avoiding him.

He tried again. “Um . . . Lucia saw my neck.”

Sable looked up, focus shifting to where they both knew she’d sunk her teeth. “Oh. Ooops. I’m sorry, I truly didn’t mean to leave a mark.”

“It’s . . .” he shrugged, feeling his face heat up. “It’s fine. Really. I rather . . . like it there. Memento of a,” he gulped, “a lovely time.”

Pine felt like an idiot, particularly when Sable frowned.

“Still . . . I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away,” she sighed. “Or put you in an embarrassing spot this way. Let me finish here and I’ll check it.”

“No, it’s all right,” Pine protested, but softly. He certainly didn’t mind having her come closer, but he didn’t want Simone to feel any regret for the bruises either.

“Now, now,” she chided. Once she was done with his hand, she leaned closer, loosening his tie and tugging at his collar. Pine felt a surge of arousal and fought it, too aware it was neither the time nor place for the response.

“Wow, I really did go vampire on you,” Sable murmured, touching it lightly. “I know it’s fading but still . . .”

“I’m fine with it,” Pine assured her, looking up. “Proud, even.”

She caught his chin and smiled at him. “That’s my boy.”

For a moment their intimacy reasserted itself, warm and sweet; Pine found himself licking his lips. Then Sable gently let go and fussed with his tie. “All right, I think you’re good to go, Mr. Pine.”

Slowly he rose, flexing his wrist a bit and waiting until she’d finished cleaning up the bandage wrappers and stitch strings before speaking. “I’m . . . nervous about Saturday, Simone. Worried I’ll fuck it up and I really don’t want to let you down.”

To her credit she didn’t dismiss his words. Instead she reached out for his hand again, curling her fingers around his in a gentle caress. “Would it help if we talked again about . . . expectations?”

He nodded. “It would.”

*** *** *** 

The reception for the Velasco-Costa wedding ran from six o’clock Friday night until nearly four o’clock Saturday morning. Pine had _never_ been so happy to pass off a major event to the weekend manager, particularly since he’d spent nearly ten hours straight dealing with various drunks, death threats between mother-in-laws, a minor fire and Karaoke so loud it made his fillings ache. Even indomitable Lucia looked ready to drop, so by the time Pine made it home, he was half-asleep. 

In fact, he overslept, waking to the sound of his mobile buzz-dancing across the nightstand hours later; muzzily he grabbed it. “Piiine,” he yawned.

“Oh, you’re asleep?” Sable asked. “I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t know if you were still coming out tonight.”

Alarmed, Pine checked his watch to see he was nearly forty minutes overdue. “Shit! Sorry, sorry, the reception really took it out of me. I’ll be there as soon as I can, yes, yes I am STILL on for this!”

“Oh good,” came the sound of her relief, and a surge of tenderness flared in him hearing it. 

“Wait for me; I’ll be there soon,” he promised and got up.

 

The address Sable had given him was for a house back off the R. Leonor Pimentel, and he recognized her car far down the driveway. The house was set back off the street, and he rang the bell as he stood on the little wooden porch, noting the baskets of blooming red petunias on it in the twilight.

The door opened, and Sable stood there, casually dressed with a watering can in her hand. “You made it. Any trouble finding the place?”

“No, your directions were perfect. I don’t think I’ve been to this side of town before—” he followed her inside, noting an almost grandmotherly clutter to the living room with its clocks and flower paintings and African violets everywhere.

“Lourdes— that’s my uncle’s girlfriend—is away for two weeks and asked me to look after her place. It’s not large, but wait until you see the garden,” Sable murmured almost shyly. “I thought we might spend our time there.”

At the back of the house a series of stone steps led to a sunken circular garden surrounded by a high wooden fence and topped by a vine-covered pergola. Pine felt it resembled a glorious little theater in the round with its overflowing flower-boxes and flagstones. He shot Sable an inquiring look.

“No neighbors; nobody will hear us out here,” she pointed out, adding, “Are you pleased?”

Pine took a deep breath, reaching for a sense of calm. He turned and stepped over to Sable, moving into her personal space here in the mauve light of early evening and waited until she looked up at him. 

“I think it’s time for me to begin,” he intoned, “giving orders.”

 

The candle sat on one of the little trellis tables, throwing a soft glow across the flagstones. Next to it lay the king of clubs. Pine flexed his hands, well-aware of the weight of the ring on his pinkie now, the deep M clear on its surface.

“Are you a _good_ pet?” he asked Simone.

She stood waiting, her hair down once more. Pine tried not to let her high-heels distract him, tried not to focus on how their black satin matched the panties and corset she wore, but it was damned hard. Actually a _few_ things were damned hard, he admitted to himself, even though he’d made it a point to masturbate earlier just so he could focus.

“Yes, Master,” came her soft little reply.

Pine fought a thrill and circled around her. “No. The correct way to address me is darling Master,” he chided. “Say it now.”

“Darling Master,” she repeated.

“NO,” Pine rumbled, feeling impish. “That should be ‘ _Yes_ , darling Master!” He slid a hand over one rounded ass-cheek and pinched her.

Sable made a satisfying little squeal before calling, “Yes darling Master!”

Delicious. He felt cruel and pleased and silly all at the same time, but under those lay something more, and Pine poked at that darkness again. He came back to face her. “Look at me, my kitten.”

She did, eyes dark. He cocked his head. “ _You_ are out of hand,” he told her with a sigh, not missing the way she quivered. “Here there is only one person in charge, one person to be obeyed. _Who_ is that person?”

“You,” she breathed.

Pine pounced. “Another mistake.” 

One hand snaked out and around her hip pinching her ass yet again as the other braced against the front of her thigh. Sable flinched and he was aware of her hard nipples through the corset, of her ragged breathing. “ _What_ should you have said?”

“ _You_ , darling Master,” Sable blurted, “ _you_ darling Master!”

“Better,” he growled, aware now of how she focused on his voice. “But _not_ quite good enough. Bring me a glass of wine.”

It took effort not to say ‘please.’

She gracefully moved to one of the other trellis tables and poured a glass of Tinta Roriz for him, the bottle clinking a little on the rim. Pine waited and watched, leaning himself against one of the pergola posts and propping a foot up behind him. The night was cooler now with clouds blocking out the view of the stars.

He could get used to this, Pine thought, enjoying himself. Giving orders had always been easy; Simone was making it a true pleasure.

“Here, my darling Master,” Sable murmured, moving back with the full glass. She held it out and he reached for it, making it a point not to be particularly careful. Wine sloshed over the edge, splashing onto the flagstones; Pine and Sable both looked down at the fresh dark spots there.

He felt her shift anxiously, felt her draw in a quick breath as her gaze flicked up to his, startled and full of heat. Pine longed to kiss her but he sipped the wine instead, set it down near the candle and gave a slow, deep sigh as the liquor burned through him.

“You spilled,” Pine told her quietly. “That’s unacceptable, pet. You must be . . . punished. You _do_ understand this.”

“Y-yes my darling Master,” she sighed in anticipation.

Pine caught her wrist and pulled her forward until she was straddling his bent leg, her thighs around one of his. He made use of his greater height and shifted, pressing one hand to the middle of her back to pin Sable up against him. She molded to his frame, her heat marvelous, her hands fluttering until Pine told her, “Keep them at your sides. Don’t you dare disobey me, kitten or this will be worse for you.”

He felt her give a nod, her fluttery excitement apparent as she unconsciously rubbed herself against his long thigh. Pine gritted his teeth, aware of his own unrelenting arousal and tried to focus.

“Thrrrree smacks,” he purred in her ear. “One for each drop. They _will_ hurt, my pet. Are you a good girl? Can you take your punishment?”

She groaned, wriggling ever so slightly. Pine savored the sensations of her grinding against him, of her terror and thrill mingled in her unconscious grinds. “Yes my darling Master,” came her breathless voice. “Yes sir!”

He reached back, cocked his hand and brought down hard on her rounded cheeks, the crack loud against her firm flesh. She bit back a yelp, jerking against his thigh, squeezing it between her own in a luscious rub of heat. Pine’s hand stung but he hardly felt it against the quick throb of his cock and his own heightened desire.

“Don’t _move_ ,” he warned, keeping his voice deep. “I know it hurts, believe me, but I expect you to be good.”

He counted in his head, drawing out the tension.

Pine smacked again; this time the sound was even louder and Sable gave a whimper, her body as tense as a wire, the hard clench of her thighs around his shaking him. Pine took a few breaths, feeling light-headed himself. The hand along Sable’s lower back caressed her, his pinkie slipping under the edge of her panties. “One more smack,” he taunted. “And you’re wondering when it will fall, aren’t you, you pretty little thing. I’m sure your arse is quite pink now, and next time you’ll remember _not_ to spill the wine.”

“Y-yes darling Master,” Sable spluttered, and he realized she was crying. Alarmed, he tensed, ready to stop, but she shot him a sidelong look and licked her lips as she blinked. “Please, one more, darling Master,” she assured him in a ragged whisper.

He struck one last time, and left his hand against her ass as Sable spasmed against him, her delighted cry and shudders nearly putting him over the edge himself. For a few moments Pine simply held her against him, letting her slowly relax before taking a breath and looking at her dazed face.

But he wasn’t sure what to do now. Was it time to end matters now that she’d climaxed? Pine knew he was still hard but that was minor; tonight was about Simone, and for the moment she was loose and quiet against him.

Then she lifted her head, her face wet but her smile as dazzling as ever. “You are _so_ good to me, darling Master. I have learned my lesson. May I . . . serve you?”

Puzzled but reassured now, Pine cupped her cheek, letting his thumb brush her wet cheek. “Of course you may,” he intoned.

More wine would be nice, he thought . . . 

But Sable began to slither down the length of his body, her hands reaching for his tented fly, her intent obvious. Startled and aroused, he shifted, bracing both feet on the flagstones as she freed his turgid cock and kissed it.

Pine grunted, one hand fumbling behind him to grip the pergola post, the other moving to Sable’s hair. He couldn’t _think_ , Christ, not when she slipped her hot wet mouth over him like that. All the control Pine had fought to maintain vanished, and he growled, rocking his hips in counter-stroke to her sucking.

Given everything that had just happened he couldn’t hold out long and arched up after a few minutes, his growls of raw pleasure hanging in the night air. Pine gasped, trying to stay on his feet, utterly spent now in more ways than one. Between his knees, Sable gave his softening cock a few last lingering licks before rising up again and slipping into his arms for a hug.

“Mmmmmmm. Ending now,” Pine mumbled dizzily, “because really, I can’t stand up any longer . . .”

She laughed and hugged him more tightly.


	7. Chapter 7

The guestroom bed was small but Pine didn’t mind having Sable draped over him. She lay half on his chest quietly, having changed out of her exotic gear and into the fuzzy pajamas he was coming to know well. He himself had opted for his undershorts and a tee-shirt as they lay together.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he told her through a little yawn. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Mmmm. Endorphins and release, not pain. I _like_ the pain,” Sable murmured. “At least, applied there. Hard to explain.”

Pine nuzzled her hairline, feeling content with her warmth and weight on him; like an affectionate blanket, he thought, smiling. “Well it seemed to go all right.”

“You did wonderfully,” she agreed sleepily, “You’re strong; I’m not used to that.”

Pine hesitated; they were both drowsy and the question could wait, but he asked it anyway. “What _are_ you used to, Simone? I mean, I really do want to learn, and I can hardly ask when we’re in the middle of . . . things.”

“Shhhhh, sleep,” she told him. “Give us a few hours before anything else.”

His eyes were closed already, and he nodded, wrapping an arm around her and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp.

When Pine woke later, he spotted Sable examining at her bare ass in the full-length mirror in one corner of the bedroom. This unexpected sensual sight had him fighting several responses, and he gave a little wolf whistle, making her turn and hurriedly tug up her pajama bottoms while making a face at him.

“What? _I_ wasn’t the one mooning the mirror,” he pointed out, laughing as she climbed back onto the bed. Outside they both heard the rain’s steady drone. Pine rolled to his side and propped himself up on one arm. “Everything all right on the, ah, south side?”

“I’m fine,” Sable told him, striving for a little dignity. “Maybe a little sore but I’ll live.”

“I could always rub lotion on it,” Pine offered half-jesting. “The _least_ I could do.”

She shook her head. “Such a sweet offer, but not this time. Are you hungry? I was going to make some ham and cheese sandwiches.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. “I suppose we can finish off the wine, too.”

Sable snickered, climbing off the bed. “Then you’ll have to go rescue it from outside, Mr. Pine. I think it’s still in the garden.”

He made a face.

The kitchen turned out to be a cozy little corner of the house, complete with café table and chairs. Pine wolfed down his sandwich in a few quick bites, not realizing how hungry he was. Sable passed him a bowl of marinated cucumber slices and asked him if he wanted a second sandwich.

“Yes please,” he admitted sheepishly. “As long as you’re offering. This is really good,” Pine added, digging into the salad. Cooking had never been his forte, although eating was.

“Thanks,” she finished compiling the second sandwich and handed it to him before settling into the chair opposite and taking a dainty bite of her own. “Pass the mustard, please.”

He did, and for a while they simply ate. By the time he was done and eyeing the salad bowl again, Sable sighed. “All right, you asked what I was used to, so I suppose this is a good time to talk about it, I guess.”

“Ah, yes,” Pine nodded, leaning back in the chair. He watched her brush her hair back and wanted to touch it, but restrained himself.

“I was married, seven years ago. Got it annulled a few years later,” Sable admitted. “Mutual thing. He wanted a certain image, a certain life, and I didn’t quite fit in with that. I don’t hold it against him, but at the time it didn’t help my own insecurities.”

Pine nodded empathetically, and Sable drew in a breath.

“Went to Paris, and finished up my residency there, and met a man. He . . . was different. I guess I sensed it the first time we met, and after a few dates, he told me I was exactly what he was looking for. Heady stuff, especially since, well, we _weren’t_ . . . having sex.”

“Oh?” Pine tried to keep his tone neutral, but a faint prickling of jealousy stirred within him. If Sable heard it, she ignored it, and picked at her cucumbers.

“He was a publisher, well-connected and well-versed in . . . games. Took me on as a tyro and taught me quite a bit, in fact. I owe him a huge debt, Jonathan. He not only let me figure out my dual nature but encouraged me to indulge both sides. And,” she looked up, “I wasn’t his only pupil.”

“Really?” Startled Pine leaned over the table.

“Really,” Sable echoed, smiling faintly. “Anyway, for two years I was a part of a relationship that taught me a lot about giving and receiving in games.”

Pine held her gaze. “What changed?”

“He died,” Sable murmured, looking down. “Pancreatic cancer. He hadn’t told either of us he was ill, and afterwards we were . . . devastated. I found I couldn’t stay in Paris anymore, so I submitted my CV to Médecins Sans Frontières and went off for the Congo and later in Madagascar. I spent a lot of time trying not to think. Finally my uncle told me he needed help here so I took him up on the offer.”

“I’m sorry,” Pine mumbled, aware of the pain in her voice. “Did you . . . love him?”

“I did,” Sable sighed. “In my own way. He . . . gave me the freedom to understand my own needs, and to grow into them. For example, you know I like to be spanked. It’s a physical high for me, particularly as the end of an inevitable outcome. I thrive on the potential threat of it, the anticipation not only of each blow but also where it will land and how hard.” She fidgeted shyly. “And you _do_ have strong hands, Jonathan.”

He ducked his head. “I was worried. I know I could—can-- seriously hurt you if I’m not careful.”

“And . . . restraint,” Sable said quietly. “Being . . . constrained. Cuffed. Tied up. That also sends me very much into my zone but that sort of play requires a lot of trust as well.”

Pine shifted a little himself, feeling his body responding to her words and the heated undertones. “So those are your more passive delights; what about when you’re . . . in charge?”

“I take my cues from whoever is under me,” she told him with a wink. “That’s the person with all the power anyway. You _know_ that, right?”

He thought about that. “How? That doesn’t seem to make sense.”

Sable picked up her plate and took it to the sink rinsing it off. “Who can use the safe word at a moment’s notice?”

“Well both players I suppose, but it’s more likely to be the sub,” Pine admitted. 

“Yes, but—it’s the passive player who gets to control the intensity and pace,” she pointed out, “Since it’s their sensations that are the focus. Strange as it seems, Doms give, and subs take. The game is _always_ played for the one receiving.”

“But,” Pine scrunched his nose up in confusion, “I like being the one in control--wait, I mean--I like the . . . _doing_ . . . all right, now I’m not sure _what_ I mean.”

“You like pleasing people,” Sable told him. “And when it gets too much, you like _being_ pleased.”

He stared at her; she shrugged.

“Nobody should be able to read me that well,” he accused, but lightly. 

“ _You_ were the one who wanted answers.”

*** *** *** 

They curled up again to watch a movie; Pine wasn’t sure what it was since he drifted in and out, but he liked having Sable half in his lap as he dozed. It was sensual without urgency; comforting and comfortable in one. When it ended, Sable unwrapped his arms from her and sighed.

“Off to church. Did you want to wait for me to get back, or do you have things to do?”

“Nothing major,” he assured her. “I thought we might drive down to Costa da Caparica and go sailing.”

She gave him a serious look. “That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

To his surprise he found himself blushing. “Yes well . . . not all of our time together needs to be focused on . . . games. And you’re . . . marvelous company in your own right, you know.”

Sable twisted up her mouth for a moment. “I’m _so_ bad at this, truly. See, if I had you cuffed on the bed I’d know _exactly_ what to do and say Jonathan, but it’s been a long time since I’ve just . . . gone out with anyone.”

He heard the uncertainty, but also the hint of loneliness, and gave a little sigh himself. “Well, I _could_ go it alone, but down at the sail rental pier they have one of the best gelato stands in all of Portugal, Simone. Forcing me to eat their luscious chocolate all by myself would be exceptionally cruel of you.”

“All right,” she agreed after a moment. “If only to save you from a fate worse than death, I suppose.”

“You doctors, always so selfless,” he murmured, grinning.

The day ended up being overcast with little gusts of wind; the beaches weren’t crowded at all. Pine almost preferred it, and kept an arm around Simone as they made their way down the long pier past fishermen and tourists toward the boat rentals. He secured a small catboat, and endured good-natured taunting from Simone as he managed to raise the sail and take them down the length of the beach thanks to the fresh breeze.

By careful tacking back into the wind Pine managed to turn the catboat and bring them back to the pier within an hour and they celebrated their safe return with the promised gelato which Simone did in fact, rave about all the way back to the little house on R. Leonor Pimentel. Although it was early afternoon, Pine knew both of them needed to get a few hours of sleep if they were to make it through their shifts at Castelo Do Mar, so he left her there to do that.

“See? Not awkward, not strange at all,” he reassured her. “And even though you clearly hogged the gelato, I’m chalking that up all the walking on the pier.”

“I did not _hog_ the gelato,” came her indignant retort, half-stifled through a yawn, “and I had a very good time. Thank you.”

She gave him her lovely smile again, this one tinged with shyness.  
Pine drifted closer, crossing into that intimate space between them.

“I can’t _believe_ ,” he murmured, “that I haven’t kissed you yet.”

“At your own risk,” Sable sighed, raising her mouth to his.

Pine moved slowly, savoring the heat of her lips, the faint taste of gelato there and then the luscious flick of her tongue against his. Suddenly sleep seemed unimportant, along with moving, breathing or nearly anything else. Pine brought his hands up, cupped her face and kissed her again, wobbling a little because his sense of balance wasn’t any too steady now.

Simone’s moan vibrated against his mouth and she pulled back, opening her eyes. “All right: officially _terrified_ now,” she rasped. “Very good, Jonathan Pine. Almost too much for me. Better go.”

He nodded, bending forward again to slowly brush his cheek against hers for a moment. “Até a próxima vez,” Pine murmured and turned away, moving slowly towards the motorcycle, not daring to look back.

At his home the cat refused to acknowledge him; at least not until the official opening of the can of sardines but Pine didn’t even realize it, going through the motions without thought, climbing into his bed a while later.

He slept and dreamt of winedrops.


	8. Chapter 8

Naturally in the wake of such a lovely weekend, the rest of the week took revenge in the form of small annoyances. The rain kept up for three days and nights, putting a damper on everyone’s enthusiasm and making a continual mess of the front door carpets. There had already been three separate incidents with people slipping and falling; one guest had threatened a lawsuit over his tumble.

Pine also found himself dealing with two blondes.

Normally this wasn’t a problem since he’d long since perfected the art of personal yet polite attention to guests over the years. Eye contact, quiet voice, frequent positive reinforcement worked wonders with most people and occasionally allowed him discreet opportunities for services of a much more intimate kind—or _used_ to, anyway. 

Pine wasn’t much interested in liaisons at the moment.

However, Susie Van Dekker _was_ and in the most unsubtle ways. The young starlet had zeroed in on him from the moment she’d checked in, and while Pine found it a little flattering, it also wore on his patience. She was at least ten years younger than he was and clearly used to getting her way; his constant and courteous rejections seemed to amuse and spur her on. He’d been called to her suite nearly every night for some trivial problem only to be greeted by Susie in various negligees and lingerie.

At first it was mildly amusing to extract himself but as the week went on, Pine grew annoyed by her repeated attempts at seduction.

The other blonde was Lucky and Pine didn’t mind her at all.

Lucky Leon had arrived at the Castelo Do Mar with her grandmother and they had the Areia suite that overlooked the pool. Pine had made it a point to introduce himself to both of them, dropping down to a graceful squat to shake Lucky’s hand. “I’m Mr. Pine, and I promise I will take very good care of you both, all right?”

That sat well with the grandmother, and apparently six year old Lucky believed it too because she showed up at the front desk at two-thirty in the morning and asked for him. 

Fortunately he was in his office, and a very amused Lucia paged him away from the thrill of laundry service billing to deal with ‘your *other* cutie.’

Worried, Pine came out and bent to talk to Lucky. “Miss Leon; why aren’t you in your room?”

“Lost the card,” she told him matter of factly. At the moment she wore a long nightgown of flower-covered flannel and carried a very battered stuffed porcupine. 

“All right, we can fix that,” Pine assured her. “You did the right thing by coming to see us.”

“Yes,” Lucky agreed. “’Cause it’s in the pool.”

“What’s in the pool?” Pine had a suspicion.

“The card. I dropped it out the window.”

Pine gave her a dry look. “On purpose?”

Lucky fidgeted. “A little bit, maybe,” she agreed. 

He sighed. “Miss Leon, it’s a very bad idea to throw anything out the window, especially room cards. Why would you _do_ that?”

Lucky thought about it. “Because it’s fun.”

She had him there, Pine thought. The Areia suite was high enough that anything dropping from the window to the pool ten floors below _would_ be worth watching.

“Nevertheless, I cannot permit you to do that anymore,” he murmured. “What if you’d _hit_ someone?”

“I would say sorry,” Lucky told him.

“Well, yes, that would be polite,” Pine agreed. “But what if they’d gotten _hurt_?”

Lucky gave him a look that told him she knew perfectly well that a small plastic key card would never actually injure anyone, no matter how hard it dropped. “I would say sorry again.”

He laughed and took her hand. “Come on then, let’s get you back to bed before your grandmother knows what’s happened and I’ll go fish it out.”

They headed to the elevator, Pine walking slowly to allow her to keep up. Lucky explained she was awake because there was a lot of noise on her floor, and even though her grandmother could sleep because her ‘ear aids’ were out, she couldn’t. 

Pine frowned, wondering what might be going on in the other suites. When the elevator opened, he and Lucky stepped out, he heard the noise . . . and felt himself redden as the heavy moans and obscenities of a porn soundtrack echoed in the hallway, barely muffled by the door of the suite on the other side of the hallway.

“Oh dear.”

“Gross,” Lucky agreed.

Pine sighed. Confronting whoever was in the Concha suite was necessary, but not with a child nearby. Wincing, he herded Lucky back into the elevator, fished out his mobile and rapidly texted. _Would you be able to babysit for an hour?_

_Not within my usual duties, but for you—what’s going on?_

_I need to deal with noise and decency issues but have a child with me._

_Come on down,_ Sable replied.

“All right Miss Leon, we’re going to visit a friend of mine and she’ll keep an eye on you while I see about the noisemakers. Miss Lucia will let your Grandmother know where you are if she calls.”

Lucky swung her stuffed porcupine around by the tail. “Okay. Can I have a snack?”

“Certainly,” Pine told her.

In the medical suite, Pine made the introductions, feeling glad to see Simone again. “This is Miss Lucky Leon, currently our guest in the Areia Suite. Miss Leon, this is Doctor Sable.”

“Hello,” Lucky murmured. “I don’t like shots.”

“Me either,” Sable assured her, “but I do like pancakes. I was thinking of getting some. Would you like a few?”

“Yes,” Lucky agreed. “Can I sit in your wheelchair?”

“Yes,” Sable told her. Looking up at Pine, she added, “We will try to save you a pancake. Maybe.”

“Then I’d better go _earn_ it,” he sighed, adding in a lower voice, “Thank you.”

She nodded, waving him off and turning back to Lucky. “So . . . how many pancakes should we order?”

Pine left them and pulled out his mobile, reaching Lucia. “Who’s in the Concha and have we had any complaints on them?”

“Let me check . . . oh, it’ a Senor Albrecht of Graz Germany, no listed complaints. What’s the matter?”

“Volume issue with an erotic film,” Pine explained sourly. “Miss Leon’s grandmother has her hearing aids out so she’s still asleep but not our Miss Leon. She’s with the doctor right now.”

“Santa Maria! All right. Oh and Senorita Van Dekker wants to know if you can check her showerhead,” Lucia informed him. “I told her you were busy helping a much _younger_ woman; she didn’t seem to like that answer.”

Pine laughed. “Lucia Zubiri you are _priceless_.”

“Just remember that around my annual review, Jonathan.”

Then matters got much more complicated once he entered the Concha.

“Simone, I need you to take Miss Leon to Lucia and come up here to the Concha suite _immediately,_ ” Pine murmured into his mobile as he moved back from the living room to the suite doorway again.

“Death?” came her very soft question.

“Yes.”

“All right; call the ambulance and I’ll be right up.”

“Right.” Pine made the calls and waited in the hallway, feeling tense. He’d dealt with death before—many times—but he never got used to it. At least in Mr. Albrecht’s case it seemed to have been fairly peaceful since he was still in the luxury recliner, looking for all the world as if he were asleep. Pine gingerly pulled the man’s bathrobe closed and turned off the film, feeling it was the least he could do to put some dignity to the man’s passing, although the coffee table still held the bottle of lubricant, tissues and intimate toys on it.

Pine was beginning to wonder if there was some sexual curse attached to this particular suite when he heard the elevator arrive. Sable stepped out, bag in hand, and headed his way, touching his arm lightly as she passed him into the suite. “All right, let’s see.”

It didn’t take long; within an hour the paramedics from De Egas Moniz emergency room logged her pronouncement and quietly loaded the body onto a gurney, leaving Sable and Pine behind as they headed back to the hospital. By now there was only an hour left until dawn, and Pine felt incredibly weary. He’d left a message for Francesca in Housekeeping to deal with the suite after the police released it and looked at Sable, who was staring at the coffee table.

“So sad. _Nobody_ wants to die like this,” she murmured. “Alone and humiliated.”

“Agreed,” Pine told her. “Particularly with this sort of . . . _collection_ out.”

Sable shook her head. “Well, they’re all top of the line, anyway. Glücklich Reiter, from what I can tell.”

“The fact that you _can_ tell is interesting,” Pine pointed out, one corner of his mouth going up. “What’s _that_ thing?”

“Lieblingsberg,”Sable replied. “Anal plug, not for the faint-hearted.”

“I’m sorry I asked.” Pine picked up a complicated device of thin leather straps and metal rods. “And this?”

“ _That_ is a stallion cage,” Sable murmured. “I’m sure the internet can show you how it’s worn, although in your case it’s going to be too short and too small.”

Pine shuddered and let it drop again on the coffee table. “I think I’m ready for a drink now.”

“Me too. Let’s make sure Miss Leon is all right and we can go get one,” Sable agreed.

After securing the suite they rode down to the lobby where Lucia put a finger to her lips and pointed at Pine’s office. Inside Lucky Leon was curled up in a nest of blankets under his desk.  
He picked the sleeping child up and gave Sable a sigh. “Let me go deliver her back to her grandmother and I’ll meet you in the bar, all right?”

Sable nodded, smirking. “All right.”

She was having a Bloody Mary, he noted, and motioned to Nikko for the same as he dropped himself into the booth seat opposite her, tucking his long legs on either side of hers. They gave each other quick grins but said nothing until after the bartender delivered the second drink.

“All in a night’s work,” Sable lifted her glass in a mock-toast. “Miss Lucky back safe and sound?”

“Yes.” Pine took a large sip of his drink. “I’ve left a note for Day to fish her room key out of the pool; I’ve done _enough_ for one night.”

“Yes,” Sable nodded. “You need sleep; it’s been a stressful shift by anybody’s standards.”

“You do too,” he pointed out quietly.

Sable looked away, but not before he spotted her bleak expression. It hit him that he probably looked much the same, and impulsively he slid a hand over hers. “Sleep with me. As in _sleep_ ,” Pine emphasized. “I’m not in the mood to be alone, I suspect you aren’t either, and I know I can _trust_ you.”

That brought a little hint of a smile and she turned back to eye him. “Nobody should be able to read me so well,” she murmured, putting a softer inflection on his words.

“Only a part of you,” Pine admitted, “you are still a woman of mysteries. Come and I’ll introduce you to the cat I don’t own, and share my poorly assembled Ikea full-size complete with overly-Nordic linens.”

Sable laughed.

And later, when he curled around her and burrowed his nose into the sweet silky strands of her inky hair, Pine felt her slip into sleep long before he did himself.


	9. Chapter 9

He woke first, rising from sleep slowly, aware of warm weight along his hip, and a head on his shoulder. Pine stirred, smiling to himself as he turned his head to look at Sable. She had burrowed into his side, one leg thrown over his thigh, dangerously close to his morning erection.

He enjoyed it. The simple warmth did a lot to buoy his mood, as did the sleep and the companion. Pine studied her.

The day hadn’t decided whether it wanted to be sunny or not, but even in the current grey light Sable looked peaceful; almost innocent with her long dark lashes and slightly pursed mouth. He listened to her little shallow breaths and thought they reminded him a bit of the cat.

Pine had been married, once. It had been shortly after he’d joined up, with a girl he’d thought he loved after a whirlwind courtship. She’d adored his uniform, and too late he’d discovered it wasn’t just his uniform, but that of _any_ soldier susceptible to her flirting. At the time the end of that six-month relationship had hurt him deeply but now it was barely a scar in his memory. 

Certainly he’d been cautious since then, but the life of a soldier didn’t lend itself to romance much, and later, when he’d gotten out of the service and into his current career the habit of distance had become . . . ingrained.

Oh he had friends; Paul Gisbourne over at the Tigre Faminto restaurant, as well as Jose and Catalina Ibarra, the couple who ran the florist contract for Castelo Do Mar. There were other people in town he knew as well; people he saw on a weekly basis on professional and personal levels. Pine fit in well here in Lisbon and liked the city . . . 

And yet, he knew he was considered aloof. Detached and standoffish in fact. Lucia once told him some of the Day staff thought he was part vampire, which made them both chuckle. 

“They’re jealous of you,” she’d assured him. “The cool and collected Mr. Pine. I know the hotel administrators would _love_ to bring you to Day.”

“Never,” Pine had assured his assistant. “I prefer the shift where the _hard_ work happens.”

It was simply his nature; there was nothing wrong with that, and yet, if he was honest with himself, Pine knew he was . . . lonely.

There were enough melancholy moments in his days that he’d become resigned to it and worked at staying busy to avoid brooding too much. Pine also knew himself well enough to know that his mood would dictate whether he stayed or left Portugal, and while that hadn’t mattered much before, now . . .

Now the situation was different. Now there was this new slightly terrifying potential here. 

A someone.

“You snore,” Sable murmured, her eyes still closed.

“Do I?” Pine asked her, amused. “Really?”

“Yes. Like a little soft purr. It annoys your cat.”

“He’s not my cat.”

“So _you_ say.” She opened her eyes and blinked a little. “What time is it?”

Pine shrugged. “Afternoon. Hungry? I could scramble some eggs.”

“Mmmmm, yes. Please, and bring them back to bed.”

“I take it that’s a request and not an order?” he wanted clarification before he moved.

“It is a request. I will do my part by staying here and keeping warm,” Sable assured him, stretching a bit. Her leg slid over and Pine braced himself as it brushed his erection through his shorts. “Oh.”

Pine took a breath. “I think it’s time we talked about . . .”

“The python in the bed?” Sable snorted.

It was amazing how she could be so _en_ couraging and _dis_ couraging at the same time, Pine thought with tender exasperation. “Flattering but . . . we can’t go on like this. I mean, we’re in bed together--not for the first time I might add-- and while it’s lovely and comforting, there _are_ bits of me that have less high-minded urges.”

“Yes I’ve noticed,” Sable propped her head up on her bent elbow to shoot him a mischievous look. “Prominent ones.”

“Simone . . .” he chided, feeling his face redden a bit. 

“Jonathan, I told you that I was mediocre at sex, and it’s true. I haven’t had any regular . . . practice or encounters or partners in years. And before you say it’s like riding a bicycle, it’s not; it’s a skill developed over time and trust. You’re the tyro at games; I’m the tyro at shagging.”

He took a breath. “There’s a difference though. When you offered to teach me, I chose to trust you and learn from you because I know there is passion and depth to the sort of relationship gaming makes. Now I _could_ offer to . . . teach you about making love but I don’t know if that’s something you’d even want or if I have anything worth offering there.” 

He hadn’t meant to put it so bluntly, but Pine figured if anyone would appreciate straight talk, it would be the woman next to him.

She looked slightly troubled. “You could, and it is, and you do, I’m certain of all that. But I’m just . . . nervous. Sex _changes_ things between people.”

Pine nodded. “Yes it does. Some of them end up having a supremely wonderful time.”

“And some of them don’t,” Sable grumbled. “Some of them end up lying there when it’s over, wondering what all the fuss was about.”

“Ah,” Pine murmured softly. That comment explained a lot, and he felt on better footing having heard it. “Well I’m sorry you haven’t had much pleasure out of it up to now. You told me I was a natural for games; I think _you’ve_ got the same potential for lovemaking.”

“Are you sure that’s not the python talking?” she accused, but with a little half-smirk.

“Simone . . .” he rolled to face her as he held her gaze. “There _is_ a spark here between us; an undeniable attraction that’s coming from both directions. We’ve already given each other orgasms. If you’d like me to show you how to make love and enjoy it, I’d be thrilled to. But I cannot, _will_ not coerce you into anything and I won’t lie to you about my desire for you. If anything’s the python in the room it’s _that_ , all right?”

Sable was quiet a moment, simply looking into his face, and Pine wondered what she was thinking; what thoughts were flicking through her mind. He wasn’t aware of holding his breath until she brought a hand up to run her thumb over his faint chin stubble.

“Are you sure you want a clumsy student? A beginner who can name every body part in Latin but isn’t always confident on how they go together?”

“Everyone,” he grinned, “has to start somewhere. _We_ will start with kissing.”

“Right now?” Sable sounded slightly scandalized.

“After scrambled eggs,” he told her, throwing back the covers. “We’ll need the fuel.”

*** *** *** 

Pine didn’t rush her; they rose, dressed, ate. The cat made a nuisance of himself demanding attention which Sable happily gave. “So he really isn’t yours?”

“No. He showed up the day after I moved in,” Pine explained. “As you can see I’m off the beaten path here, so I assumed he was lost, or dumped. I . . . felt sorry for him, opened a tin of sardines, and here we are now.”

The cat was rumbling now, basking in the slow strokes Sable gave him as he sat next to her on the sofa.

“Sardines—huge mistake,” she giggled. “He’s got your number.”

“I suppose,” Pine said, coming to sit on the other side of her. The late afternoon sun finally had come out, and all around them the sound of the wind through the cork and olive trees made a soft susurration. 

“Peaceful, but it’s really . . . very basic, isn’t it?” Sable commented. “How long have you lived here?”

“Nearly three years. I don’t need much, really. Do my laundry and dry-cleaning at the hotel, pick up what I need on the weekends, enjoy my down time. You know how it is after dealing with other people all day.”

“God yes,” Sable laughed. “I _do._ ” She turned to face him, and Pine knew it was the perfect moment. 

He held her gaze and smiled back. “Kissing. Are you ready?”

Sable nodded. Carefully Pine took her hand, giving it a light squeeze. “All right then. You already know a few wonderful things about kissing. What you might not know is that the best kissing starts far away from the mouth. Just like in a game, anticipation makes a good experience a much better one, Simone. So we start _here_ . . .” he pressed his mouth to the back of her hand as gently as he could. Not giving her time to laugh or protest, he turned it and dropped a kiss in the center of her palm, letting the heat of his lips warm it for a long and lingering moment.

He felt her shiver, which pleased Pine tremendously. With care he moved little kisses up to the inside of her wrist, letting his tongue flick the sensitive skin there, tasting her pulse point, which still held the tiniest trace of perfume.

He paused. Right now he knew his bent head, his submissive pose were as effective as anything his mouth was doing, and while it had been instinctive, Pine sensed it was precisely what she needed. As for what it was doing to _him_ . . . oh yes, he was definitely aroused. Speaking like a Dom, acting as a sub; this strange mix of give and take felt dangerously potent.

“All right?”

“Yesss,” she managed, looking a little flushed. “I like this.”

“I know,” Pine purred. “I do too. You have fascinating hands. Pretty nails, no polish, no rings at the moment.”

He kissed up the inside of Sable’s arm to the crook of her elbow, letting his faint stubble scrape there, gratified when she gave a little sigh. Pine felt as if he were stalking her with kisses, leaving the trail of them like tiny pinpricks of heat.

Then he stopped, lifting his head. Sable sat very still, clearly waiting, drinking in the sensations before giving him a flustered look. “Are you . . . going to keep going?”

“No,” he told her as he sat back on the sofa. “Now it’s _your_ turn.”

She looked confused, adorably so. “My turn?”

“Yes.” Pine encouraged her. “Can you do to me what I did to you?”

“Kiss your hand?” came her skeptical question.

He said nothing and simply waited. Sable finally reached for his hand, looking at it for a moment. “This is . . . unusual,” she admitted.

“If _you_ liked it, then _I’m_ going to like it,” Pine pointed out, his voice low. “Trust me.”

That seemed to bolster her; Sable lightly ran her nails along the back of his hand, but settled her first kiss on the tip of his index finger. It tickled. Her mouth seemed so much hotter than his, and as she moved from finger to finger, Pine found himself a little dry-mouthed.

Sable shifted and kissed in the soft spot between each topmost knuckle and the sensation made him want to groan. She went up the outer edge of his arm, giving the tenderest brush of her mouth against his still pink but stitch-free scar in the process. When she reached his forearm, she paused and looked up at him, smirking.

“You taste nice,” Sable told him, and Pine could see how dark and open her pupils were, suspected his own probably matched hers.

“Thank you,” he managed, working on breathing normally. “You’re very good at this.”

“And now?” Sable wanted to know, leaning closer. Pine brushed her hair from her shoulder and nuzzled it. Now he wanted to rush, wanted to move quickly but he held himself to slow kisses along the side of her neck. By the time he reached under her ear, Sable was squirming, her breathing rough and her nipples clear through the thin fabric of her shirt.

“God this is torture!” she whimpered. “I love it and hate it and I want to get _kissed_!”


	10. Chapter 10

“That’s the point,” he breathed against her skin, a little laugh in his voice. “You of _all_ people should be familiar with torture.” He let his mouth linger a moment longer, and then sat up, watching her as he did so. Pine thought she looked vulnerable and at the same time delicious, dark lashes fluttering as she looked through them at him.

“ _My_ turn,” she managed, and took a breath before shifting to his near shoulder. He felt her teeth nip lightly through it---nowhere near the bite she’d given him before—but his body reacted pleasurably to the pinch of pain, making his face flush. Pine held still. Sable pressed her mouth and blew heated breath into the cloth all the way to his collar, where she used her teeth again to tug it open. “Here’s where the scent of you drives me wild,” came her whisper.

He gritted his teeth, determined to stay still and savor the sensations. The tickle of her hair and the moist touch of her mouth had him hyper-ware and almost into that strange quiet zone that was becoming familiar to him. Pine felt her soft kiss pressing against the sensitive patch just under his ear, that lightest touch holding his focus, keeping him acutely aware of her nearness.

“I want to go further,” Sable breathed ever so softly, “and _really_ kiss you.”

Christ! It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘yes, Mistress,’ but Pine managed to murmur, “please,” instead.

Sable shifted herself and tipped her face, bringing her lips to his with agonizing slowness, settling her mouth on his like a shadow touching a wall.

So soft, so light and yet so powerful, Pine thought through his haze. Restraint and passion from both of them as they did no more than this for long minutes.

Just as the little silk flick of her tongue slid along the seam of his mouth, the startling jingle broke the mood. On the kitchen table, a mobile—Simone’s—began to vibrate.

“Ignore it!” Pine urged in a whisper against her mouth, still feeling intoxicated.

“That’s the hotel,” she sighed. “Probably about Senor Albrecht. I _have_ to get it, Jonathan.”

He uttered a curse; she smiled in crooked sympathy and peeled herself off the sofa to fetch the device. Pine closed his eyes, trying to manage his erotic frustration as Sable spoke, her own voice none too steady. “Doctor Sable here.”

She listened for a few moments, pacing a little and after a few affirmative murmurs hung up with a hard jab of her thumb. Turning, Sable gave a humorless chuckle. “That was my uncle with some bad news--guess who was a moderately famous children’s author?”

Pine paled. “No.”

“Yes. The media are already sniffing out details about Senor Albrecht’s passing and looking for a hotel spokesperson. I think we both need to get to work.” She came over and leaned down, brushing her nose against his before kissing him softly. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to go.”

“Neither do I,” he grunted. “Promise me we’ll have this weekend.”

“I promise,” Sable replied quickly. “If we make it through the next two nights we’ll _need_ it.”

 

The death of Gerhart Albrecht, beloved author of the world-famous _Welt de Blasen_ children’s series made international news, and Pine found his hands full with rush of attention as reporters from all over the world showed up at Castelo Do Mar to do segments and look for interviews. Hints of Albrecht’s personal proclivities from past gossip became a point of interest, and the hotel was forced to issue a staff-wide memorandum gently reminding all employees about their binding agreements on privacy and non-disclosure. Some of the more unethical reporters from the tabloids went so far as to offer bribes, but Pine was pleased that none of the staff of the hotel even considered taking them.

He knew Sable, too, had been hounded for comments concerning the death and had refused to cooperate, directing all questions to the coroner of the local police department. By Friday most of the reporters had gone and only a handful of stuffed animals and flowers were left out along the fountain at the entrance to the hotel. Pine found Lucky there early on Friday evening, looking at the slightly damp display with interest. He came and stood next her.

“It’s a dead thing,” she told him, pointing. “For when somebody dies.”

“A memorial,” Pine agreed. “Are you all right?” He knew Lucky’s grandmother was at the pool, not far away, but he liked to keep an eye on the six-year-old once it got dark.

“Yes. I saw one before,” Lucky said. “It had candles though.”

Pine laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes they do.”

“Ours was bigger,” she went on. “Grandma and me put pictures of Mama and Papa in the middle, and some of the cards that came in the mail. And I did a drawing of fish because Mama always liked my fish pictures. I tried to do a cat for Papa but it didn’t look good. I’m gooder at cats now.”

Pine stayed very still. He looked at Lucky, who looked up at him steadily. “Oh Lucky . . . . I’m _so_ sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she patted his hip. “I was just little back then. Can I do a picture for this one?”

“Yes,” Pine told her very softly. “I’m sure Senor Albrecht would like that.”

She ended up doing three drawings using the hotel stationary, pens and high-lighters from his desk, and Pine stared at the one Lucky had given to him for a long time. It was a tiger, crude but dynamic, with extended claws and long whiskers, leaping high, with butterfly wings on his back helping him to soar, apparently.

A simple thing, but Pine smoothed a hand over it, struck by the attention to detail his little guest had put into her art; the care she’d taken in printing his name at the top: _For MR. Pine_ followed by a smiley face.

His throat ached a bit at the thought of a six-year-old already knowing about death; already accepting such a huge loss in her life. Pine wondered if her name had come from that time. 

Fatigue seeped through him, not just limited to the physical. Pine felt mentally and emotionally exhausted as well, overwhelmed with no time to process any of the conflicted feelings stirring within him. The urge to get on his bike and simply ride off kept popping into his head, tempting him. It would be so easy to quit and do that; he’d done it before in bleaker times of his life.

And yet . . . and yet there was Simone.

If anyone would understand his mood at the moment, she would be the one, Pine acknowledged to himself. Someone who had seen other sides of his personality, who knew what a life in the service industry could _do_ to a person who was always at the beck and call of the customer.

He rubbed his eyes and set the artwork under the clear blotter of his desk, feeling a yawn work his jaw as he stood and stretched. Pine tidied the invoices and made a last sweep of his office before checking the mailboxes outside the office. When his fingers touched an envelope, he paused, and pulled it out.

It held four queens and a post-it note: _choose_

Pine took in a quick breath and fanned them out, looking over his hand consideringly. The sight of them was enough to make him feel better, and he took his time thinking about what he wanted.

No. What he _needed_ , he thought with a little sigh of relief.

“Your majesty,” Pine murmured, and pulled one queen up above the others. He kissed her lightly, and slipped her back into the envelope and tucked it Simone Sable’s mailbox. The other three went into his pocket as he turned and walked away, his steps lighter now.

*** *** *** 

Of course she had handcuffs.

Pine took a breath, flexing his hands in the padded bands around his wrists. The mattress was comfortable, as was the width of the headboard to which he was cuffed. He looked down the length of his body at Sable, who was finishing off the last tie for his left ankle, checking the Velcro cuff around it carefully.

“Look at you,” she murmured with affection, patting his leg. “All tied up on my bed with no place to go. You’re one big dish of _dessert,_ boy.”

He said nothing, his mouth a little dry. Pine felt heat in the pit of his stomach, and thin tension through his body, all too aware of being naked. Physically, yes, but in other ways as well. He swallowed but it didn’t do much.

Sable came over and leaned down, catching his gaze and holding it. Her hair was down again, and long dark strands brushed his chest as she did so. “Are you ready for this, toy of mine? Do you know what to say if you want me to stop?”

“I’m . . . ready,” Pine murmured, “Mistress Sable.”

She reached over and stroked his cheek, her cool fingers light on his skin. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think you nearly are. So vulnerable, boy of mine. So open and unprotected right now. I have _all_ of you to look at and touch; tease and play with.”

Something about her words, about the way she said them made Pine take a slow, deep breath. He watched her pull a scarf from the dresser drawer and fold it into thirds. “I’m going to block your sight for a little while, plaything. Will that be enjoyable?”

He nodded his head, but she waited until Pine managed, “Yes, Mistress Sable” before she came over and slipped the silky material around his eyes. The scarf was dark with little white roses on it, and smelt faintly of perfume. Pine felt her tie it off near his right temple. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

A quick pinch to a nipple jolted him, and he added, “Mistress Sable!” as the spike of pleasure raced through his body. Pine felt his cock thicken a bit in quick reflex.

“Better. I know you don’t want to be punished . . . or _do_ you?” came her slow question. Now that he couldn’t see her, Pine tried to focus on her voice instead, on the way it soothed and excited him at the same time, left him feeling wonderfully hazy.

Hands slid along his torso so lightly that he had to fight his urge to squirm. Pine felt Sable’s touch move down his ribs to linger along his hipbones. “Oh you _luscious_ thing, you. I can touch you . . . _anywhere_ I want.”

Pine waited in sweet anticipation, feeling a wave of chill over his body as he did so. When Sable’s fingers moved away, he worked his jaw, wondering when and where she would caress him next. The soft scent of something floral hung in the air. His hands in their cuffs fisted up.

“You need a little . . . decoration, I think. We’re celebrating this lovely moment of your giving into me, boy. Letting me have my slow and deliberate way with you, aren’t we?”

So easy now. “Yes, Mistress.”

A sudden prickle up one thigh made him flinch; the sensation wasn’t painful per se, just unexpected, little stings moving up the long muscle. At the same time, Pine felt a hand caress his half-hard cock, and the combination pulled a soft moan from him. Good. _God_ , it felt amazing to lie there and simply savor the sensation.

It came again, a racing sting across the muscles under his navel, just skirting the edge of his pubic hair, and a light stroke along his shaft, followed by long moments of sweet uncertainty. Where would the next touch come? Pine began to lose track of time, focused as he was. He tensed, rolled his hips, tugged against his bonds and let the game claim him fully.

And she was ruthless, Pine realized, working his prick to full stand, teasing it just enough to keep him aroused but never enough to satisfy. The frustration combined with the irritating prickles had him aware of himself, of how on edge he truly felt. His desperation began to grow, and Pine wasn’t sure if he could take much more, but oh how _glorious_ it was for this surreal and timeless moment.

“M-Mistress,” Pine finally pleaded, pulling hard at his bonds now, restless and hypersensitive. He was leaking, aching and hungry for her, not sure how to move through this point. Sable knew though, and Pine felt her climb over his torso to tug away the blindfold. He blinked, re-adjusting his vision to see her smiling down at him, her eyes dark and lustrous.

“God, I want you,” she told him in a husky voice. “May I _take_ you, boy?”

“Yes,” Pine agreed, “I . . .” he didn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say because Sable reached for his prick and guided it into her. Pine cried out as his hips rocked forward, driving himself up into the slick heat of her cleft. 

Raw. It felt slick and raw to thrust and thrust and faster now, pumping himself up against her, into her thrustheatgoodyesohhgodgodgodYESSSSSSSS---

Every muscle tensing, Pine came hard, his vision whiting out as he strained against his bonds, Simone clinging to him tightly.

He slumped against the damp sheets, spent. Adrift. Lost in a strange place of semi-consciousness where Pine was only aware of his heartbeat and the weight of Simone on him. 

Time passed. Pine became vaguely aware of Simone making comforting noises, of her shifting off of him and uncuffing him. Of her cleaning him with a warm washcloth and curling up at his side under a blanket.

His face was wet; his eyes stung. Simone kissed him and cradled his face against her chest until he finally fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

When Pine woke, he knew it was mid-morning, even though the curtains were drawn. He looked around, smiling gently at Sable next to him, who was sprawled on her stomach and dead to the world before taking a look at the dim bedroom.

He liked the cool blues of the walls, and the little touches of color everywhere—a wreath of sea-grass framing a mirror; a glass and brick bookcase against one wall; a collection of tiny shadowboxes holding postage stamps in them. With care, Pine managed to slide to the edge of the bed and sit up, hoping he could find the bathroom without having to wake Simone.

It was done in sea greens, and after using the facilities and rinsing his mouth, Pine looked at himself in the mirror. A little scruffy, and his hair would need a comb, but he was pleased to note he looked . . . better. Certainly felt better. After making a face at himself and chuckling, Pine headed back, stopping to look at the bed and the woman on it.

Her ass was showing. Pine bit his lips, suddenly aroused at the peachy delight now exposed, and shook his head, feeling devious. _That_ would be his target, he decided. Much as he looked forward to exploring all of her body, the flagrant view of such delectable mounds beckoned him.

“It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer to the earth than she was wont and it makes men mad,” he quoted to himself under his breath, snickering at his own audacity. Pine couldn’t be sure Shakespeare would appreciate his quote in _this_ context, but it amused him and he slowly moved to the bed, sliding over her prone form until he rested his chin on her left cheek.

Sable started and mumbled, “Mmmmgood morning,” before attempting to roll over, but Pine didn’t let her. Instead he pressed a kiss to her ass, which immediately made her giggle. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Wrong cheek.”

“Left cheek,” Pine murmured, and nibbled it before adding, “Delectable.”

“You’re silly,” she giggled, but he trailed kisses from one cheek to the other, aware that her hips were wriggling a bit, and not just from a desire to escape the affection  
.  
“You have a remarkable rump,” Pine announced. “Round yet firm, smooth yet supple. You’d be pinched within an inch of your life in Italy.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Pine assured her, pressing kisses now along the sensitive little crease between one cheek and the back of one of her thighs, making her squirm. “So I intend to be first.”

“Jonathan!” came her exasperated call. “That tickles!”

“Oh, I had _no_ idea,” he rumbled back, working a hand between her thighs, letting his palm cup against the curly pelt of her vulva. “Does this tickle too?” Pine nipped harder while rubbing his palm against her, gratified by how damp her curls were.

“ _Some_ one’s being a huge . . .”

“--Pain in the arse?” he finished, grinning. “Well if you don’t want me focused on this intensely spankable part of you, you’ll just have to tempt me with something _else_ , Simone.”

She muttered something into a pillow that he couldn’t quite catch, but wriggled against his hand again at the same time, making it clear she was enjoying herself. Pine then decided that it was time to make a point about his intentions and began to lavish a good deal more attention to a part of her that he was sure hadn’t received much before. 

Sable’s gasps and half-hearted protests shifted to pleasured groans, particularly when Pine’s fingers began to circle her engorged clitoris at the same time he lapped at the tender pink pucker of her ass. She wriggled, rising to her knees to give him better access, and he kept at a deliberate pace, gradually feeling her tense against his fingertips, her groan rising into a fluttery cry of delight. 

Slowly he licked his way up the cleft of her ass, pausing to suck at the dimples there before running his tongue along the trough of her spine and stretching out on top of her very boneless form.

She turned her head, her eyes half-lidded. “I . . . I had no idea that would feel SO . . . .”

He laughed. “Unexpectedly erotic? Yes, well the world is full of surprises for the bold.”

She dropped her gaze, shy as a schoolgirl and he kissed behind her ear before whispering, “There isn’t an inch of you I _don’t_ want to kiss or play with or touch, Simone. For all our vaunted intelligence, we’re animals too, and you make me damned _glad_ of that.”

“Me too,” she told him, shifting her thighs and nestling back against his prick. “Er, but we’re not going to . . ."

“Oh no,” Pine assured her. “Anything further in that direction would take the better part of the night, and require a bit of alcohol as well as a lot of lube for _both_ of us.”

She giggled, and he felt her relax under him. “Fair enough, although I hate to leave things . . . undone.”

“I’m utterly open to suggestion . . . as I think you _know_ by now,” Pine replied.

“Oh good. Well _I_ think I’ll get up on my hands and knees . . .” Sable told him, wiggling a little. Pine kissed the side of her neck, rising up himself over her, rubbing against her spine playfully.

“Jonathan,” Sable murmured, reaching down under herself to catch his engorged shaft in her fingers. “Slow?”

“Slow,” he agreed, and was.

He let his big hands slide down her back, cupping them around her hips and rocking into her in deliberate strokes, setting a steady pace. Pine savored the pleasure of plunging into her heat, of looking at her bare spine under him as he did so. It aroused him further, and although he held out as long as he could, Pine gave into his orgasm a while later, growling in pleasure.

*** *** *** 

“So tell me about the Garden of Paradise,” Pine asked her later, as they were strolling along the beach. Sunset wasn’t too far off, and they were planning on dinner in town.

“The Garden of Eden,” Sable sighed, looking pensive. “It’s a rather _exclusive_ club for people who want to showcase their games and pets. My mentor took me there three times to help me push my boundaries a bit. Keep in mind I was younger and a little bit at loose ends at the time, so I went.”

Pine said nothing, but squeezed her hand in support. In the distance three fishing boats glided on the horizon. After a while Sable spoke again. 

“It was . . . freeing, I suppose, but it was also a bit of a turning point for me. I knew I trusted my mentor but having an audience took something away from the game for me. I went once as an observer, once as a sub and once as a Domme, and each time I realized the _same_ thing.”

“You’re a private player,” Pine nodded.

“Yes,” she turned to look at him. “I’m not in it for show; I’m in it for the intimacy.”

“That sounds . . . perfect,” he replied.

“Maybe,” Sable shrugged. “It’s just . . . I’m also pretty exclusive in everything else, Jonathan. I don’t share _anything_ very well, so if that’s going to be trouble for us, I need to know."

Pine pulled her into his arms and bent forward, whispering into her ear. “What you and I have is _extremely_ exclusive, Simone my darling. Our folie au deux is a sweet madness I’m not willing to jeopardize or expand beyond the two of us.”

She looked up at him, brushing her fingers over his flyaway curls, smiling. “You mean that?”

“Yes.”

“So even if some nubile blonde beauty saunters into the hotel and offers to let you drink a martini out of her navel you’d turn her down?”

Pine gave a dramatic sigh. “Martinis are _almost_ as overrated as blondes, frankly. Now if the scenario involved a certain raven-haired doctor and a few ounces of Anisette, I might be sorely tempted. Sorely.”

A wave washed over their bare feet and Sable grinned at him. “Perhaps we should pick up a bottle as a nightcap?”

He hugged her and they stood there as more waves splashed their toes. 

Paul gave them the best seat in the restaurant; the one that overlooked the beach, and kept circling back to check on them, clearly delighted. Pine introduced him to Sable. “Simone Sable, this is Paul Gisbourne, owner of this place and decent friend most of the time.”

“The rest of the time I’m just his forwarding address,” Paul responded. “Order what you want, on the house—ah!” he pointed at Pine. “Shut up, no. I get to do this because I can. Protest and I’ll just pile on the credit.”

“Paul . . . all right. Thank you,” Pine told him with a slightly embarrassed smile. 

“Better,” Paul told them. “All right, I’ll have Rafe take care of you two. Simone, a pleasure to meet you.” With a clap to Pine’s shoulder he moved off, and Sable gave Pine an amused look.

“We go back years. He ran the restaurant in the hotel in Sweden where I was working. One night the place was robbed and Paul was shot; I got him to the hospital.”

Sable nodded. “Where was he hit?”

“Elbow; he’d tried to wrestle the gunman,” Pine sighed. “Anyway, we’ve stayed in touch, and when he settled here, he kept urging me to come to Lisbon, so I finally did. It’s been good to see him.”

“I bet,” she agreed. “He looks pretty pleased.”

“That’s because of you,” Pine admitted slowly. “I’m not exactly known for . . . dating.”

“That makes two of us,” Sable snickered. “Are we pathetic, Jonathan?”

“No. _I_ think we’re simply . . . particular,” he replied with a smile as the waiter glided up and began reciting specials.

They lingered over the meal, watching the sun set, spilling orange over the waves, and by the time the first stars were out and the dinner finished, Pine leaned forward to catch Sable’s hand. “I believe you said something about a nightcap?”

She blushed, dark eyes bright with humor and delight, biting her lower lip. “You won’t get much to drink out of _my_ navel I’m afraid.”

“That depends on how many times I fill it up,” Pine pointed out playfully.

“Tit for tat,” Sable spluttered. “I’m willing to bet I’ll get more out of _yours_ , which is quite the innie by the way.”

“Well, there’s nothing for it but to _try_ then, isn’t there?” he told her. “I _do_ love a challenge.”

She lifted her chin. “As do I, Mr. Pine, as do I. Which sheets shall we ruin in the name of this soon-to-be-regretted exercise in bluff and alcohol?”

“Mine,” Pine told her as they rose from the table and linked arms. “I think my overly-Nordic ones deserve a good marinating in all _sorts_ of fluids.”


	12. Chapter 12

For the next three months they spent time together every weekend, either at his place or hers; Pine found himself looking forward to Fridays and a little resentful each Sunday. They took trips into Lisbon to museums and book fairs and festivals; they ate at the Tigre Famintino with Paul; they did shopping and laundry and dishes. Pine found himself telling her about his bleak childhood and his father’s death, about his brief marriage and the depressing years in Iraq after it.

Sable listened. Pine appreciated the way she didn’t ask questions or interrupt him; instead she simply nodded and held his hand, her eyes on him as he spoke. It was a relief to get it out; to tell someone after all this time about his depression and insecurity; about how he’d kept moving to just keep living.

She too, opened up a bit and relaxed. Pine loved learning Simone was a secret philatelist and a shower-singer; a woman with only one perfume but more than a dozen different can openers in her kitchen. He loved her laugh, and the way she decided how to wear her hair each day by a roll of a die. (‘One is bun, two is chignon, three is coronet braid, four is French braid, five is French twist, and six is pony tail.’)

By mid-summer, Pine knew he was in love. It had happened so easily, so naturally that when he realized it, the thought didn’t scare him. Whether or not Sable felt the same way he couldn’t be certain. All the immediate evidence certainly seemed to support it, including a birthday dinner ending in a sensual game where she’d catered to his Dom desire to dribble melted chocolate over her bound nude body and lick it off. 

So when he received the notification that he was expected to attend the hotel management conference for a week in Seville, Pine found himself resenting the trip, particularly since it would take away the weekends on either end. He debated on not going, but knew it was mandatory, and that he wouldn’t be the only employee of Castelo Do Mar going. When he broke the news to Sable, she smiled wistfully.

“I’ll _miss_ you. You’ll have to bring me back some oranges.”

“I don’t want to go; it’s going to be one of those awful gatherings where everyone has seminars all day and drinks too much at night,” Pine groused. “The ambitious ones will be pissing on everyone’s nerves, and the rest will be laughing at them. Not my idea of a good time.”

“You’ll be in Seville; I’m sure you can find something there to see,” she pointed out. “And if worst comes to worst you can always cut out early. I thought you _liked_ travel.”

He gave her a look, his expression slightly bleak. “This isn’t the same, darling. Before, I was travelling _from_ , not _to_. And this particular _to_ is now taking me _from_ , if that makes any sense.”

She blinked at him, her smile small and shy. “That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said.”

Pine scooped her up into his arms and spoke softly to her. “All right, I’ll go, but you must promise me two things, Simone.”

“And those are?” she asked, toying with his shirt collar.

“First, that you’ll take care of a certain feline who will be extremely put out if he doesn’t get his fish in a timely manner.”

“That I can do, certainly,” she murmured. “And the other?”

“That you’ll consider doing some . . . paperwork with me when I get back,” he whispered.

Her arms slipped around him, squeezing tightly. “Paperwork. You’re such a _manager_ , my darling.” 

 

Seville was much hotter than Lisbon, without the cooling breezes off the ocean. Pine found that the Hotel Alfonso was nearly as impressive as Castelo Do Mar . . . nearly. It had all the requisite amenities of course—the luxurious décor, the five star service and impressive history, but being an insider took some of the luster off. Pine could tell who was actually good at their jobs and who was not; he made it a point to see how his counterpart handled things at two in the morning.

It felt odd to socialize with the other managers and compare notes; Pine had forgotten how the sense of one-upsmanship held over from one hotel chain to the next, and how some ‘incidents’ passed into legend in the re-tellings. Nearly everyone had a ‘dick in a bottle’ story, and one dignified concierge from a hotel chain in Zurich shared a tale of an oiled and naked threesome handcuffed together only to be stuck on their balcony in sub-freezing weather.

A few asked about Senor Albrecht, and Pine remained discreet, allowing them to fill in the blanks without directly saying anything, which won him some grudging respect. He fielded questions too, about the Sheikh, who was a familiar annoyance on the hotel circuit, and caught stories of wild parties and huge unpaid bills for the former guest, particularly in Monaco and Belize.

Some things, he thought, never change.

He called her a few evenings later, feeling a little lonely and determined not to admit it, but when Sable purred, “I was hoping to hear from you, my darling Master,” Pine felt a joyful frisson through his frame.

“Have you been a _good_ girl while I’ve been away?” he asked, settling on the bed and turning out the light. 

“No,” she confessed, her voice soft and girlish. “I let another male see me naked.”

Pine had a good idea who she meant and grinned in the dark; the cat would not have been much interested, but it was the principal of the deed, really.

“Oh that IS a serious transgression,” he rumbled, cradling the mobile closer. “How very wanton of you, my kitten. Now I shall have to punish you.”

“But . . . he didn’t see much, my darling Master,” Sable protested lightly.

“Nevertheless, your nakedness is for _my_ pleasure alone,” Pine rumbled. “Where are you?”

“In the living room of your apartment,” came her slow answer. He could tell by her voice that Sable was slipping into her own zone, and the thought pleased him. Pine spoke again, pitching his tone low.

“Take off your clothes right now. All of them.”

“Yes, darling Master,” came her slightly breathless reply. He heard the sound of cloth and the shift of her mobile as she did so.

Impishly he added, “Send me a selfie so I can be assured you’ve followed my command, pet of mine.”

Her pleased gasp made him grin, but a minute later his mobile chimed and he glanced at the shot. It was a little blurry but the sweet sight of Sable’s half-closed eyes and glorious bare skin made up for that. Pine felt himself stiffen in response.

“Charming,” he murmured into the receiver. “I’m half-tempted to make it my new wallpaper.”

A faint protest came over the connection, but Sable didn’t say anything, and he chuckled at her obedience, feeling his arousal strengthen. Pine spoke again. “If you do as I say— _precisely_ as I say—I may let you pleasure yourself later, sweet slave. Can you do that?”

“Mmm, yes my darling Master,” Sable sighed into her mobile.

Warm, yes he was definitely feeling warm now. Pine absently unbuttoned his dress shirt. “All right then. Go to the refrigerator and get an ice cube.”

Pine heard her footsteps, and the slow creak of the heavy door of the appliance. A rustling sound and then—

“I . . . have one, darling Master.”

“Very good,” he praised her, closing his eyes the better to visualize Sable. Memory gave him a lovely image and he ran his free hand along his groin. “Now, lick it. Enough to wet the surfaces.”

It was essential it not . . . stick, he knew, considering where it was going to go. “And I want a photo of that too.”

This time Pine thought he heard a little chuckle, but when the mobile pinged, he chuckled himself at how utterly lascivious Sable looked with her tongue flicking the ice cube.

“ _Such_ a gifted mouth,” he sighed. “Remind me to put your pretty lips to very naughty use when I come home.”

She gave a little gurgle before replying, “Yes my darling Master,” in a breathless voice.

“Now,” Pine smiled. “I want you to rub that ice over your right nipple. Stroke it slowly in a circle all around it.”

He heard her gasp and then give a little whimper; the sound was delicious and Pine undid his fly, reaching to grip his turgid prick. “Chilly?”

“Y-yes,” came her voice.

“Yes _what?_ ” Pine growled with a hint of threat.

“Yes darling Master!” Sable corrected herself. “I’m sorry darling Master, I won’t forget again!”

“Oh I shall be keeping track,” he assured her. “There _will_ be a reckoning, my kitten. Now move the ice to the other nipple.”

Guiding her, Pine had Sable run the melting cube over nearly every ticklish or erogenous zone on her body he could think of including behind her knees and in the crooks of her elbows. She made quiet gasps and whimpers, her voice heavy with pleasure at his playful torment, and the sounds soon had him breathing heavily as well.

“You sound cold,” he commented after a while, “absolutely chilled. Perhaps you need to warm yourself up, my pet.”

“ _May_ I, darling Master?” Sable’s pleading whisper was like a lick up his bare spine.

“Did you say the magic word?” 

“ _Please_ darling Master. I . . . I need it,” Sable confessed. “The ice has left me very, very . . . wet.”

“Show me,” he commanded, feeling a surge of pleasure.

The photo showed her from the waist up, water trails glistening on her breasts, her mouth pursed as if for a kiss. Pine groaned, wishing he was there to weave his hands in her hair and nip at her mouth.

Out of fairness, he angled his own phone and managed a quick picture of himself, sprawled on the mattress, half-dressed and fully erect. Before he could talk himself out of it, Pine sent it to her.

Her fluttery moan of desire said it all, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer, not with the double stimulation of sight and sound from her.

“Do it,” he urged her hoarsely, “I want to _hear_ your pleasure, my pet, hold _nothing_ back.”

And Sable did as she was told, providing a painfully luscious soundtrack of moans, little animal cries and filthy words that had Pine gritting his teeth as he tried desperately to hold out. She gave a familiar keen a few moments later, and that sweet, loved sound was all he needed to follow her into the mindless bliss of orgasm.

He lay there afterwards, fingers of his free hand curling around his mobile, and gave a satisfied chuckle into the receiver. “Oh you shamelessly _wonderful_ woman, I _love_ you.”

Across the miles he heard her little sniffle. “I love you as well, my darling Master, Mis-ter Pine. I wish you were here so I could wash you in the shower and curl up with you tonight, but that will have to wait until you’re back in my arms.”

“I’ll be home soon, my love. Go and sleep,” he told her and hung up, sleepily smiling in the dark.


	13. Chapter 13

It was the first time Pine had ever felt as if he was actually returning home. Sable came out as he pulled the rental into the gravel driveway, and he hugged her once he’d unfolded himself from the car. 

“It’s felt longer than a week,” she told him quietly. “I didn’t realize I would miss you so much.”

“I know what you mean,” Pine agreed before kissing her soundly.

Inside, the cat came over, sniffed Pine’s shoes and walked away, unimpressed. Both Pine and Sable chuckled at that, and turned back to each other, smiling.

“So, we both have work tonight, starting in about six hours,” Sable murmured. “The wise thing would be for us to get some sleep—you in particular since your circadian rhythm is probably off.”

“The wise thing,” Pine agreed. “But I think we can put off sleeping for a little while. I have presents for you first.”

She brightened and then looked embarrassed; Pine laughed and moved to open the trunk of the rental.

Once the bags were inside and the curtains drawn, he insisted on both of them climbing into bed. Sable set her pillow against the headboard and sat up, covers around her as Pine finally joined her, a pair of shopping bags in his hands. 

“Now I wish I’d gotten _you ___something,” she sighed. “Would you like your own set of handcuffs?”

“Maybe for Christmas,” he smirked, settling himself next to her. “All right, here.”

The first bag was paper and Sable opened it, peeking in. She gave a little sigh of pleasure as she pulled out an ornate wooden picture frame with a hand-cut textured mat specifically designed for postage stamps. “Jonathan it’s beautiful! Oh I have a set of eight from Malta that I’ve been _dying_ to showcase . . . thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” he told her, enjoying her delight. “I rather lucked into it at one of the frame shops down the street from the hotel.”

“Well it’s going to be a highlight in my living room,” Sable assured him, and added, “Thank you for this, even if it’s just a silly hobby.”

“It’s not silly,” Pine told her. “If it makes you happy—and believe me I _adore_ seeing you happy—then it’s a good and meaningful hobby.”

She laughed. “Well thank you again. I suppose we’re _both_ lucky I don’t collect say, hobby horses, or AK 47s.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “ _Very_ lucky. And this is the other gift. Small but when I saw these I thought of you immediately. Of course they’re going to require paperwork and some decisions but I hope they appeal to you too.”

Fighting his nervousness, he handed her the second paper bag, which was much smaller. Sable took it, shot Pine a look and then turned her attention back to the bag. She opened it, pulling out a small black velvet bag. 

He watched her undo the drawstring and pour out the gemstones into her palm: a two carat diamond and a pair of black opals twinkled in the dim light. She drew in a shaky breath.

“Oh,” Sable managed. “Oh!”

“There . . . there is a question to be asked,” Pine managed in a shaky voice, but before he could continue she looked over at him, her fingers closing into a fist around the stones.

“Jonathan Pine, will you _marry_ me?” she demanded fiercely.

He blinked. “Er, yes.”

“Good,” Sable told him. “Yes. I’d like to marry you _too_.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, and then both of them burst out laughing. It felt so buoyant, so freeing and sweet and right; Jonathan pulled her into his arms and nuzzled his way up the side of her neck and over her cheek to her waiting mouth, putting all the love and joy he could into the kiss.

And she kissed back, looking at him as if he were the most wonderful person in the world, he thought as he blushed. “Oh Simone,” he chuckled, “only _you_ would go Domme to take charge of _my_ proposal.”

“I _had_ to,” she confessed, “otherwise I would have been too overwhelmed to say ‘yes’ darling. I’d be blubbering and staring at these magnificent stones, caught up in how much we love each other.”

And he understood. This complicated and sensual woman in his arms had just as much at stake as he did.

Pine caught her fist and kissed it, guiding it to the nightstand where she set the stones down before shifting so that the two of them lay side by side, snuggling close. He gave a deep and contented sigh, aware that he desired her, but also that this was a moment to be savored.

He touched her, stroking her shoulders, her hips and thighs, brushing his cheek over her breasts, kissing the valley between them. Simone returned the attention by caressing his back and pressing kisses to his collarbones. When Pine shifted to lie between her thighs she guided him into her, face flushed with desire, eyes bright.

Slow. They entwined themselves together and moved with sultry passion, bodies shifting as they kissed and whispered to each other. He drove himself more deeply, and she set her teeth against his shoulder as her own orgasm shuddered through her. Pine loved the feel of that; her body squeezing his prick in absolute surrender. He gave himself over to his own climax, growling her name in fierce pleasure.

*** *** ***

And there was paperwork of course.

First there was the matter of collecting all the necessary documentation for getting married; a long process that meant forms and requests from England and France. The fact that both of them had previously been married made it that much more complicated, but Pine hadn’t become a manager by shirking the rules. 

He handed over the task of a honeymoon destination to Sable, telling her that he was willing to be surprised. The little grin she gave him upon hearing that left him slightly worried, but game.

And of course he went to talk to Adam.

“Well well. Not much of a surprise I suppose,” the older man rumbled, looking Pine up and down keenly. “I know the two of you have tried to be discreet but most of us had it figured out for a while now. Certainly she seems happier.”

“I hope so,” Pine replied. “She makes _me_ very happy.”

“Good,” Adam sighed. “When I talked her into coming to Lisbon it was with the hope that she might find some future for herself. She’s always been a very . . . self-contained girl.”

“She’s wonderful,” Pine told him with a soft smile. “I’m extremely lucky.”

“Keep that in mind the first time you have a real fight,” Adam pointed out dryly. “So what are your plans? Staying in Lisbon? Lucia says you’re a real wanderer. What about children?”

“All matters under consideration,” Pine nodded. “For the moment we’re simply happy to be engaged and hope you’ll give us your blessing.”

Adam smiled. “Pfft, easily given, easily given,” and to Pine’s surprise the older man gave him a hug as well.

Lucia was much more effusive. “ _Married_? To _Simone_? Yes, yes thank the saints and the angels yes! Oh Jonathan it’s _perfect_!”

She practically skipped around him, a sight Pine thought he’d never see in a woman over sixty, and then Lucia effusively hugged him, her cheek against his ribs. “I’m so _happy_ for you,” she whispered. “You deserve to be happy.”

Gently he hugged her back, touched by her words and pleased at her delight. “Thank you.”

“And of course you’ll get started on a baby. A beautiful baby with your eyes and her face. It will be a little terror if it’s anything like you but we’ll manage,” Lucia continued. “A girl will be a heartbreaker and a boy . . . well, he’ll be a heartbreaker too.”

“Slow _down_ ,” Pine warned her, grinning. “There’s a lot that has to happen before anything _that_ momentous.”

“I’m in management; it’s second-nature to look ahead,” Lucia reminded him, a twinkle in her eyes. “Besides, I notice you’re not at all alarmed at the prospect of fatherhood. Very Portuguese of you.”

“Bite your tongue; I’m British to the core,” he teased.

Lucia waved a hand. “A minor setback, I assure you. So where will this event take place? The wedding I mean, not the baby-making.”

He tried to ignore that, but her grin made him grin. “We were thinking we might hold it on Praia do Dafundo. Just a little service since it’s only going to be a handful of guests.”

Lucia nodded approvingly. “Very subdued and easy to book. Practical.”

“You mean cheap, but it’s sentimental too,” Pine assured her, remembering the many times he and Simone had enjoyed their sailing and walking along the surf. “That’s all that matters.”

“Hardly.” Lucia snorted. “There is the ring and the dress and the reception menu in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Lucia, it’s not happening tomorrow, so there _is_ time,” Pine assured her. “Now what’s left over from Day that we need to deal with?”

*** *** *** 

He and Sable began house-hunting. Unofficially of course, but with an eye to the future. They looked north and along the coastline, not finding many places that appealed to them, but when they returned to Costa da Caparica they found two houses that each had potential.

One was a ramshackle bungalow style home facing the west, with a lovely view of the sea. It sat at the end of a long road lined with other homes and had a little olive grove in back. But the plumbing needed work, and Pine admitted to Sable that while he didn’t mind the occasional repair job, a major overhaul would be a serious financial commitment.

The other was an old stone house set on a scrubby hill off the main highway. The owners had tried to rent it out to tourists who found the isolated location and poor cell phone reception a problem. The road to it wound through cork and olive trees and was more dirt than gravel, but it too had a view of the Atlantic, and a small kitchen garden in the back beyond the rock terrace.

Pine and Sable had wandered through it one Saturday afternoon, moving quietly through the wide living room and sunken kitchen.

“There’s a fireplace,” Pine observed, admiring the white tile and wrought iron design. “I bet there’s one upstairs as well.”

“Is there central heating?” Sable wanted to know. “I’m not facing a winter on the coast with _just_ a fireplace, Jonathan.”

There was. Upstairs was a lovely master bedroom, bathroom and two guestrooms that shared a half-bath. Pine stood in the middle of the empty master bedroom and tried to visualize it with furniture. Sable moved to touch one of the walls, humming a little.

“I like this one,” he murmured. “It’s . . . soothing.”

“It is,” Sable agreed. “It wouldn’t need too much. A security system, and a satellite dish perhaps.”

“Yes,” Pine nodded. They’d both admired the wood and iron lattice door, the heavy shutters on the windows, the solid workmanship of the place. “Could you see it as . . . home?”

She looked up, catching his gaze and came over to him. “Yes I could. It’s . . . a _strong_ place.”

“A quiet place,” he agreed. “We could have company here, or simply enjoy ourselves.”

“Mmm,” Sable concurred. “We’d be able to sleep in the day and work at night without problems with the neighbors, that’s for sure. But it’s really up to someone else, isn’t it?”

Pine chuckled. “If we bring enough sardines, even the cat we don’t own _will_ love it, I promise.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to extend it by one chapter--hope that's all right! :)

She wouldn’t talk to him but Pine knew something was bothering Sable. She kept brushing it off, assuring him everything was fine, but he could tell by the set of her shoulders and mouth that she was struggling with an issue inside. 

Second thoughts? Cold feet? Pine couldn’t tell and finally after a week of being patient, he herded her out to the patio that overlooked the pool. It was a cool night, and the full moon reflected on the water there. Pine made her sit across from him at one of the umbrella tables and proceeded to stare at her.

Sable squirmed, and fretted even as one corner of her mouth went up at his relentless glare. “Don’t Jonathan, please. You’re mildly terrifying when you’re in Night Manager mode, all right?”

“I wouldn’t _have_ to do this if you’d simply tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured, softening a little. “Please.”

Sable gave a deep sigh and leaned forward, reaching a hand out to one of his. “It’s about the damned paperwork. I’d love us to be married by a priest but at this rate it will take us a year or _more_ to meet all the obligations necessary for that here in Portugal, and I don’t want to make you do anything just to please me.”

Pine cocked his head. “Whatever we do, the civil ceremony is the first requirement. But you know there’s a perfectly good _Anglican_ church in town as well.”

She blinked at him. “But . . . are you sure?”

Pine squeezed her fingers lightly. “Simone, part of my job is helping people be happy. I’ve got contact information for weddings, wakes, children’s birthday parties, hen and stag parties and séances. I’ve arranged for massages, portrait sessions and laser tag marathons—trust me, the vicar at St. George’s would be happy to hold a ceremony for us either here or on the beach.”

“You’re . . . Anglican?”

He gave a shrug. “I was baptized one. It’s never been a _major_ part of my life but I know your faith is important to you, and I’m more than willing to support that, darling.”

Pine watched her consider his words, absently aware of how the moonlight played over her dark hair and pale face. Sable finally gave a little sigh and rose up, coming over to him and kissing him lightly. “You’d do this _for_ me?”

“No,” he told her. “I’m doing this _with_ you. Just don’t expect much company beyond Christmas and Easter Mass, all right? I’m _not_ a morning person.”

That made her laugh, and she kissed his temple. “That will do, darling that will definitely do. And Jonathan . . . thank you. This means a lot to me.”

He smiled, feeling lightness in his chest. “I love you; I want you to be happy, Simone.”

She curled an arm around his shoulders. “I feel the same way; what can I do to make _you_ happy?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to give a glib answer, but instead, Pine took a moment to think, savoring this opportunity. He looked up at her in the light of the full moon and gave a little sigh. 

“Just . . . _love_ me,” he told her quietly, “the way you do right now. I’ve never been loved before and yours is precious to me, Simone.”

He heard her soft sob and when she kissed him, Pine kissed her back lingeringly.

*** *** *** 

The jeweler’s shop sat on the end of a row, looking slightly old-world and stodgy looking with its iron grille front window display; Pine had seen it many times to and from his way to Paul’s restaurant and never thought much about it but today he and Sable had an appointment there with Señor De Lacerda, the owner. They arrived in the late afternoon, a few hours before work, both of them feeling slightly nervous. Sable had the bag of stones in her purse.

Once inside, a slightly burly young man in a suit greeted them, guiding them to a little green velvet topped table surrounded by wooden chairs. “I’m Señor De Lacerda’s assistant Miguel Porto,” he told them, his gaze never leaving Sable. He took her hand when she offered it and bowed over it, looking as if he wanted to kiss her fingers. Inside himself, Pine bit back the flare of irritation at this overly-familiar if not courtly gesture. “I’m sure I have seen you before, heading to and from La Tigre next door, yes?”

“Possibly. I’m Simone Sable, and this is my fiancé, Jonathan Pine,” she replied, her tone slightly cool. “Where is Señor De Lacerda?”

“Delayed,” Porto told them, still not looking at Pine. “So I will be happy to assist you. How may I make you smile today, pretty señorita?”

“ _We’d_ like,” Pine cut in quietly, “To look at engagement ring settings for our stones.” 

The man looked over at him, and Pine saw a hint of condescending amusement in his eyes. Porto quickly looked back to Sable, who had fished out the velvet bag and set it on the table before settling into one of the chairs. Pine sat next to her maintaining a carefully neutral smile as best he could.

But underneath he felt wary. Something about Señor Porto annoyed him right from the start; a sense of challenge in the set of the young man’s big shoulders. Pine took a breath, striving for calm; perhaps it was just a little conflict of personalities. It happened at first meeting sometimes; you ran into someone you disliked without always fully knowing why. 

“Engaged . . . why is it the beautiful ones always are,” the jeweler sighed with comedic flair and winked at Sable. He turned his attention to the stones. “Excellent Asscher cut, good clarity . . . Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a pendant? This would look so lovely nestled in your cleavage.”

“No.” Sable told him, shooting Pine a slightly worried look. “No, we’re definitely looking for a ring.”

“Of course,” the young man rumbled, glancing at Pine with a hint of challenge before nodding politely. “Set alone or with the opals? Forgive my saying so, but these opals quite large; a ring holding all three stones would be . . . ostentatious. Almost vulgar on your pretty little hand.”

Further annoyed, Pine realized that the man was right; he was still being an overly-familiar prick, but his point was valid. 

Sable picked up the diamond and set it aside with one of the opals. She set the other opal a few inches away. “Two rings. Each with a diamond and one of the opals, then.” When Pine made a little noise of protest, she shook her head.

“Yes, my love. It will make for . . . parity. Balance. Señor Porto, I’d like to see what you have in platinum settings for both of us, thank you.”

Her tone was firm and the jeweler’s assistant gave a little nod before rising and heading back into the recesses of the store. Pine watched him go before speaking in a low voice. “I don’t like him.”

“I don’t like him either,” Sable agreed, “do you want to stay, or go?”

Pine considered, but before he could say anything, Porto was back, a velvet lined tray in his big hands. He set it down with a flourish, showing off two rows of rings. “For the beautiful lady, a selection worthy of a queen. I especially like _this_ one . . .” so saying he picked up a ring and held it out. “The diamond slightly off-set with the opal to one side like so.”

Sable took the ring, studying it. Porto gave Pine a perfunctory glance. “Oh, and there are the men’s rings for you. Any of them would do, I think.”

Pine tensed, holding back the urge to rise up and drive a fist into the other man’s belly. Sable dropped the piece of jewelry back into the tray, growling, “No. This has gone far _enough_ , Señor Porto. You will apologize to my fiancé immediately.”

Caught, the burly young man made an embarrassed face and tried to laugh. “Oh Señorita, it’s all in good fun. We men understand this, right?” He looked at Pine, who stared back at him, his expression as carefully neutral as he could make it, despite is inner anger.

“Understand what? That you may flirt outrageously with the woman I love without my objecting, even when we both have hinted for you to stop? If this is how you do business then we’ll take ours elsewhere, Señor Porto, and I will be happy to register a complaint with your patrão.”

Now Porto’s expression was peevish. “There is no need for _that_ ; I was merely hoping to make the lady smile.”

The shop door opened and all of them looked to see who had come in. The aristocratic man in the three-piece suit took in the tableau before him and gave a sharp growl. “Mais uma vez? Juan, vã-se embora! _Agora_!”

“Mas Tio—”

“Nao tio mim—agora!”

Defeated and sulking, Porto rose up and slipped around the older man and out of the shop through the front door, slamming it behind him. 

Pine watched at the older man grimaced. “Allow me to extend my deepest apologies for my nephew, who is . . . the bane of my existence. I am Señor De Lacerda and you must be the friends of Mr. Gisbourne next door.”

Pine felt the tension of the moment fade away; he shook the man’s proffered hand and introduced Simone, who did the same.

“Again, I am so very sorry you had to deal with Juan; were he not my sister’s son I would _never_ have him here. So . . . shall we look at settings?”

In the end they chose to have one of the opals mounted vertically over the diamond for Sable’s ring, and Pine was quietly delighted to have the other opal mounted in a wide men’s band with diamond chips above and below it. Señor De Lacerda promised to have both rings ready within two weeks, and they celebrated by having late lunch at the Tigre Faminto.

“You wanted to slug him, didn’t you?” Sable asked after they’d ordered salads.

“Did it show much?” Pine gave a mirthless smile.

“Yes,” she told him. “But was it because he was flirting with me, or because he was a jerk?”

“Both,” Pine admitted. “I already deal with difficult people all day, but when they cross the line into my— _our_ —personal lives, that’s when the paradigm changes, Simone.”

It had shaken him slightly, he knew, the way his temper had flared so easily at such minor provocation. Pine drew in a breath and leaned closer to her, his voice low. “This jealousy . . . it’s dangerous stuff.”

“It’s unwarranted, but a little flattering,” came her soft reply. “Now you know how _I_ feel once in a while when I see you charming some guest at the front desk.”

“Not the same,” Pine shook his head. “I doubt you’ve ever wanted to twist the head off of some matron asking the way to the beach.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Sable teased. “I meant to ask by the way, why two opals? They’re lovely but I was curious.”

Pine looked down for a moment wondering if he could put it into words.

He tried.

“Well the diamond was traditional, but the opals . . . they’re fiery and brilliant, dark and light, full of the unexpected. _You_ have all that. You’ve found that inside of _me_ somehow. So when I saw them, I knew they were representative of . . . us.”

Sable pushed herself away from the table and stood up, grabbing his hand. “Now.”

“Simone, what?”

“Now. We’re going to the civil register office and getting married right _now_.”

Pine grinned. “Check please,” he called to the waiter.


	15. Chapter 15

The _second_ wedding of Jonathan Andrew Pine to Simone Marie Therese Sable took place on a warm noon on the Praia do Dafundo under a lacy canopy. The entire wedding party consisted of fewer than fifteen people altogether including the bride and groom, although several of the hotel staff managed to watch the whole thing from the railing up along the Avenue Marginal.

Pine stood with Paul under the canopy, watching as Lucky Leon trotted up, scattering pink rose petals with determination, managing to get a good handful right onto his shoes before standing over by Lucia, who was sniffling.

Lucky had been a last minute addition to the party, but a welcome one as far as Pine was concerned. She’d agreed to be a flower girl as long as she could be barefoot—a reasonable stipulation as far as everyone was concerned. Her grandmother stood with the other guests, beaming, and Pine felt glad to have been able to include them.

Adam escorted the bride, looking proud and grave at the same time, Pine noted. And as for Simone . . . he took her in, astounded. She wore a simple knee-length dress in off-white lace, her arms and shoulders bare. One small strand of pearls was woven in her coronet of dark hair and she held a simple nosegay in one hand.  
She smiled at him; that familiar lush garden smile that had won him over from the first, and Pine gave a sigh, reaching out a hand to her as Adam stepped back. “Take care of each other,” he rumbled.

Pine nodded, and they both turned to face the vicar.

The ceremony was to the point, and within ten minutes they were reciting the vows to each other. Pine felt a particular sweet pang in sliding the ring onto her finger; the setting for the stones had turned out extremely well and the band was a perfect fit. Then came his own ring; Simone caught his eye and mouthed, ‘mine’ to him as she slid it on him. He grinned.

They kissed, fairly chastely until he felt the soft nip of her teeth against his lower lip. Not to be outdone, Pine nipped her back as their guests applauded, none of them aware of their little playful power struggle.

And then it was over; people clapped him on the back, hugged him, congratulated them both as they made their way back up the beach and to the stairs up to the road in cheerful disarray. Their dash through the main lobby of the Castelo Do Mar brought applause from the staff and many amused guests as well, and when they’d reached the little reception salon both he and Simone were out of breath and grinning.

“My _God_ you look beautiful,” he told her. 

Simone brushed sand from her stockings and laughed as around them the caterers finished the last touches on the buffet. 

“And _you_ look edible,” Simone responded, chuckling. “Gracious, I think I brought half the beach in my shoes.”

“We’ll manage. So . . . cake and late lunch and then we are off,” Pine smiled. “Still no hint where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Simone reminded him. “Don’t you _dare_ ask anyone either—I’m calling in all my queen cards on this.”

“Yes Mis-tress,” he murmured, grinning.

*** *** ***

Lucky was one of the last to see them off; the girl had hugged Simone and solemnly accepted the little nosegay with a shy ‘thank you’ before turning to Pine.

He squatted down to be eye-level with her, smiling. “Thank you for being a part of our special day, Miss Leon.”

“You’re welcome.” Then suddenly she was hugging him, whispering in his ear and Pine gave her a quick squeeze in return, her words making his eyes sting a little.

“Yes,” he told her. “I will, I promise.”

She nodded and twirled away to go hand the flowers to her grandmother. Simone moved closer to him and took his hand. “What did she say?”

“She made me promise,” Pine whispered back, “for us to _always_ drive very, very carefully.”

Simone squeezed his hand and he returned it, both of them too moved to speak.

 

The airport shuttle took them and their luggage to Libson Portela and Simone directed the driver to the correct airline. Pine made a show of patience until she guided them to the check-in desk and handed over a printout. “Two, round trip to Nassau, Provincetown, Bahamas.”

He stared at her; she smirked.

“The Bahamas! We’re going to the _Bahamas_?” Pine demanded, smiling.

“The Beach Club, four nights, Mister Pine. And before you worry about it, Lucia called in a slew of favors and comps, so we’re set for meals, sightseeing and fees. Her gift to us.”

Pine shook his head, overwhelmed for a moment. “She never said a _word_!”

Sable laughed. “I know, and it almost _killed_ her! We’ll have to get her something nice as a souvenir while we’re there.”

He shook his head in amazement. “She is a treasure.”

Pine and Simone played Naughty Texts during the 11 hour flight and one of the first things he realized was how good it felt to go somewhere new. He’d never been to the Bahamas, and the tropical setting made a lovely but brief impression as they were taxied to their beachfront cabin suite at the resort. Simone looked equally delighted as she wandered around inspecting everything before finally returning to him in the living room.

“Jacuzzi tub, twenty-four hour room service, practically every luxury amenity you can think of,” she pointed out. “We’re going to be spoiled.”

“We’re going to be too busy to use _most_ of them,” Pine scooped her into his arms. “You are beautiful, there is a large bed here, and I _want_ you.”

“Are you saying you desire to consummate this marriage in broad daylight?” Simone mock-demanded, “here and _now_?”

“After enduring eleven hours of your filthy messages taunting me with all sorts of slippery and salacious delights, the answer is _yes_ ,” Pine mock-growled back. “There are promises to be kept, you know.”

“I was rather mean, wasn’t I?” Simone smirked. “Goading you in a public place like that.”

“Torturously so,” Pine groaned. “It’s not easy to hide tumescence on a plane these days.” 

“Poor darling,” came her laugh as she reached into his slacks, “Let me make it _all_ better.”

*** *** *** 

They sailed, renting a catamaran from one of the sail shops, and snorkeled and spent time visiting all the little shops along the waterfront. Pine enjoyed himself hugely even as he missed Lisbon a little. He and his bride managed to find the right gifts for everyone and had them shipped back. In the course of the week they took tours and photos, explored the old forts and beaches and had lovely dinners under the stars.

But they hadn’t gamed. Pine wasn’t sure why; certainly the lovemaking was wonderful, but a small part of him craved that . . . edge. He wondered if he should say anything to Simone, wondered if she was waiting for him to suggest it, or if she was biding her time. Whenever he saw the gift shop Pine fought the impulse to pick up a deck of cards. Occasionally he saw Simon glance at the candles on their dinner tables and lick her lips.

Then two things happened.

First, he found the set in the closet, among all the other complimentary beach toys amply stocked by the resort. There, amid the inflatable lounges, fin and snorkel sets and folding chairs was a small rubber ball and two paddles.

Pine examined one of the paddles carefully, feeling a surge of mischievous lust. The size, the weight, the firm rubber grip on the handle . . . he realized how perfect it would be for . . . well for _more_ than just playing on the beach. The very thought of bringing it against his bride’s pert backside nearly made him groan, and Pine quickly tucked it away again, wondering how best initiate matters.

The second thing helped considerably. He and Simone had planned on a long beachside stroll to the oyster bar for dinner. She wore a short little sundress of blue with a seashell print on it; one he particularly liked on her because it showed off her legs. Right before they stepped outside, she caught his eye and flipped up the back hem.

She wasn’t wearing anything under it.

Stunned, Pine followed her out, listening to her quiet laugh. “You . . . you . . .”

“I felt like being a bit naughty tonight,” she told him in a low voice, smiling as other people from the resort passed by. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Oh he _minded_. Pine felt twin jolts of desire and exasperation as he stayed close to her, one arm low around her waist. “It’s a breezy night,” he pointed out tersely. “You do _realize_ that?”

“But you’re so warm and near me,” she reminded him. “I’ll be good, even though I’m completely _naked_ under this dress, I promise.”

“Of course you’ll be good,” Pine growled, “because I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you at all _times_ , little fiend.”

She laughed at that, and her dark eyes held a hint of heat in them that let him know he’d said just the right thing. 

They meandered along the tideline, and Pine said nothing but he smiled dangerously.

The oyster bar was crowded; they wove through the throngs to find a few chairs near one end, and Simone settled herself with a smutty look at him. “The seat’s cold,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry; _your_ seat will be warmed up soon enough,” Pine assured her, leaving Simone to blink. As they ordered, Pine made sure to shift his chair closer to her, and drop a hand on her thigh under the table.

“Tonight I am the king of clubs,” he murmured. “Ring or no ring. You understand that?”

Simone licked her upper lip before replying, “I do, my darling . . . master.”

The waiter came over, flirting lightly with them both; Pine let his hand curl to the inside of his bride’s thigh as he ordered for them both, aware of Simone’s smooth muscles tensing under his touch.

“You are a wicked, wicked girl,” Pine told her. “It’s a good thing you have me to keep you from getting yourself into trouble.”

“I’m not wicked; I’m high-spirited,” she protested sweetly. “Consider me the epitome of feminine willfulness dedicated to keeping you on your toes, darling . . . M.”

He loved the challenge in her tone, the flirtatious daring in her quick smile. Pine caught the hem of her skirt with one finger and slowly began to drag it up her leg as he replied, “Keep this up and I promise you’re going to remember tonight for a _long_ time, my pet.”

The meal became a protracted exercise in teasing; Simone kept lightly provoking him, and Pine responded by upping the ante, caressing her throughout the meal. By the time they’d finished she was looking flushed, and Pine was nearly at the end of his patience. 

The breeze had picked up, he noted with amusement, and the walk back along the beach was definitely a challenge for Simone, who had to grip her hem whenever someone passed by them. But as they got closer to the resort there were fewer people, and in front of their own cabin she slowed her pace, enjoying the play of the wind through and up her dress.

Pine did as well, feeling enthralled by this slightly wild little thing holding his hand. The heat coiled low in his stomach and he tightened his grip, pulling her hard into his arms. Simone slammed against him, laughing as he kissed her forcefully, both of them tasting of wine. He nipped her bottom lip for a moment before speaking against her mouth.

“Right. You deserve _everything_ that’s coming to you starting this moment, naughty pet,” he told her, his voice a rumble. “You understand?”

Simone looked up at him through her lashes, demure for the moment, and nodded. Pine wasn’t fooled though, and slid a hand up under her dress, cupping it around one hip to pull her forward. “Go inside, turn on one bedside lamp, and stand at the foot of the bed.”

She moved off and he gave her a pinch as Simone did so, gratified to see how quickly she darted. He stood outside, mentally counting, drawing out the moment. 

_Power,_ Pine mused. _Such lovely control._

Finally he turned and stepped into the suite through the sliding glass door to see her standing right where he’d told her to be, watching him. The only sign of nervousness was a quick nibble of her lower lip, and Pine smiled. He moved past her to the closet, found one of the paddles, and slowly brought it out.

Seeing it, she tensed.

Pine waggled it slightly. “It seems our suite has _just_ what we need to correct your behavior, my impertinent pet. Very accommodating of them don’t you think?”

“Y-yes,” she replied, eyes locked on the paddle. Pine strode to her, coming so close that Simone was forced to lean back as he loomed over her.

“Yes, _what_?”

“My daaarling Master,” came her slow response. Pine saw the slightly dazed look and understood; she was slipping into her zone now, ready to yield to him, quivering to do so. He throbbed, aware only of how perfect this moment was.

“I’m so sorry pretty one, but for all your impudence, all your luscious _cheekiness_ this evening, you need more than a firm hand. Don’t you agree?”

Wordlessly she nodded, still staring at the paddle. Pine tossed it lightly from one hand to the other, watching her follow it. “It will sting of course, but you’re ready for this, I’d say.” 

She quivered, and Pine caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “ _Look_ at me, my pet . . . what will you say when you can’t take another stroke?”

“Jaguar,” came Simone’s glazed whisper; Pine nodded.

“Now, you will bend over and place your hands on the mattress. Knees straight, if you please.”

He set the paddle down on the bed, right between her hands and took a long moment to pull the hem of her dress up, exposing her from the waist down. Pine indulged himself, stroking Simone’s smooth skin, running his fingers up the insides of her thighs to tease the damp fluff of fur at the join. Lightly he toyed with her hips, the small of her back where the dimples at the base of her spine showed.

The entire time Pine heard her low excited breathing and the sound of it had him fighting back his own arousal. In the low lamplight her skin gleamed, and when he reached for the paddle, he laughed, laying one arm along her waist. “Now see how ready you really are, my naughty bride.”

Polished wood met bare skin with a satisfying ‘crack.’ 

Pine found himself biting his lips and flushed as the round red mark rose on Simone’s left cheek. She shuddered with pleasure. He struck again, holding back his strength, aware of exactly how much force to use as this blow hit her right cheek.

“How pretty to see you blush,” he told Simone as lightly as he could. “Roses in your cheeks as it were.”

“Thank you, d-darling Master,” she replied breathlessly. “More please?”

He obliged, careful to scatter the blows along the more muscled parts of her ass, but working his way to the crease where the thigh began, aware of how erotically sensitive it was. Pine bit his lips, well-aware of his own building pleasure, of his prick pressing demandingly against the fly of his slacks. 

Simone was shaking now, her naked hips grinding in circles, and when he delayed a strike she moaned in anticipation. He wasn’t sure how long the spanking went on, but finally Pine heard her gasp, ‘Jaaaguar!” and he dropped the paddle, letting it thump onto the carpet.

Carefully Pine pulled her up and stripped the dress off of her before wrapping his arms around her to cup her hot curves. She ground against him, whimpering, her face wet.

“Oh yessss,” came her ragged voice, “Want you _now_!”

He felt her hands tug his slacks open, push them down, push HIM down onto the mattress. Over his supine form, Simone straddled him, her dark eyes bright. 

“Take me,” came her simple order. “ _Hard_.”

More than ready himself, he thrust up into the heat of her, splayed hands burning against her ass as she rocked against in counter-rhythm against him, crying out in pleasure with every stroke. 

Pine had never felt so savage and at the same time so . . . free. He kissed Simone, nipped her, called her his goddess and found himself barely riding out her furious climax before his own pleasure-drenched orgasm erupted moments later as she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

*** *** *** 

Time passed; he wasn’t sure how much or how long but it didn’t matter. Simone curled at his side, damp and quiet, occasionally brushing a hand over him, and pressing a kiss somewhere.

Pine lay there, dazed and pleased and content. This was good, he decided. This quiet time after he and Simone had bared their truer souls together. The scent of their mingled musk, the taste of sweat salt and tears; this was perfect.

“I love you,” he told his bride in a wondering whisper. “I love you in a way I never thought I’d ever love another person, Simone. Not just for what our bodies do, but what our hearts do together.”

She gave a little sob and moved closer, kissing his shoulder. “I love you,” she echoed. “We fit. I never thought I would find you and now I have.”

There were more tears and Pine couldn’t tell which were his, and which were hers.

And it didn’t matter.

*** *** ***

The last morning. They were packed and ready to go; suitcases already wheeled to the shuttle. Pine took a last look around the suite for anything they might have forgotten, feeling nostalgic already as Simone slipped an arm around him.

“It _has_ been wonderful. We can always come back you know.”

“I think we should,” he agreed. “If only for more free paddles—”

She laughed, and at that moment someone knocked on the door. Pine opened it to see the young front desk concierge who looked slightly chagrined.

“Mr. and Missus Pine, yes? I’m sorry, but I was told that one of you is a doctor?”

Simone nodded. “Yes, that would be me. Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” the young concierge looked pink in the face. “Yes, I hate to impose, but we have . . . a slightly unorthodox medical situation with another one of our guests who will not permit us to call an ambulance . . ." 

Pine shared a long look with Simone who was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Some things never changed. 

She turned back to the concierge. “All right--I’ll need a glass cutter, some duct tape and a first aid kit,” she began. 

end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . And there we have it. I realized that I'd had Pine and Sable each be Dom three times and had to toss a coin for this final encounter, hee!
> 
> Perhaps I'll do an alternate scene if there's enough interest. Until then though, I'm happy with the way things have turned out and would love to hear from anyone reading. Thanks!


	16. Alternate Ending

Castelo Alternate scene

Pine sensed something was up when Simone sat waiting in the living room in one of the low chairs, her smile sweet and enigmatic. He moved closer, aware of the last light of sunset just outside the picture window of their cabin, of the coming of twilight and the scent of the sea.

A perfect last evening here in the Bahamas.

“Oyster bar, yes?” he asked brightly. “Are we ready darling?”

And Simone looked up at him. Her expression sent a shiver through him; Pine responded without even being aware of it, straightening up a bit under her loaded gaze.

“Not. Tonight,” she said slowly, putting emphasis on each syllable. “Tonight, there has been a change of plans.”

It was then that Pine caught the flick of light from her hand; the glitter of the ring on her index finger.

The ring.

He sighed, a strange mix of tension and desire pulsing through him; sweet anticipation. It was as if the air in the room around them had thickened. “Yes.”

Simone rose up in one fluid movement, keeping her gaze on him, her body language strong. She caught his chin in one hand, forcing Pine to look her in the eyes. “Yes what?” came her soft demand.

“Yes . . . Mistress.”

He loved her this way.

Pine knew he adored so much about his bride: her smile; her easy laugh; the way she let him sleep in and always put the newspaper back in order after she’d read it, but over much of that he also loved the elegant way Simone could turn him on with a tone of voice or a commanding stare.

How she could free him by simply taking charge.

Like now.

“I’m the one giving orders tonight,” Simone told him as she let her hand slip from his chin down the front of his throat to the first button on his tropical print shirt. “You’ll listen to me and do what I say boy, won’t you?”

Pine slowly nodded.

“Take your clothes off for me. Now.”

He was aware that the curtains for the picture window facing the beach were open, was aware that Simone knew it too. Pine began unbuttoning his shirt while she settled back into the chair and watched. When Pine glanced to the window, Simone shook her head.

“Ah-ah; keep your eyes on me. You’re _mine_ tonight.”

Off came the shirt; he undid the fly of his slacks and let them drop, stepping out of them and kicking off his sandals. Hesitating, Pine hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers.

Simone merely waited and the only hint of her excitement was a slight flexing of her fingers as she tilted her head. Pine pushed his shorts down, feeling them slide to the carpet. He stepped out of them and pushed the discarded clothing aside with one foot before straightening up again. The room was chilly from the air-conditioning and that added to his tension. 

Naked. 

It meant something _different_ in this context, Pine knew. It meant being vulnerable. Receptive to whatever she wanted to do to him. Pine felt his mouth dry slightly, felt his prick thicken as she slid her gaze down his body, appraising him as she smiled.

“Good boy,” came her murmur of praise. “So eager to please, so ready to . . . play. You’re my favorite toy.”

His head felt light and Pine suspected it was because most of his blood was going elsewhere at the moment, and rapidly. He kept still, watching Simone slowly rise from her chair. She circled around him, but Pine kept his gaze forward, still aware of exactly where Simone was. A hand passed along his hip, fingers warm.

“I’ve been remiss in not touching you enough,” Simone told him softly. “All this exposed skin and muscle, tanned here and pale . . . here.” Her hand curved around his ass, and Pine felt the heat of her fingertips. Languidly she stroked, making lazy trails from one cheek to the divide, laughing when he tensed.

“Not as padded as mine, but sensitive too,” she murmured, “spread your feet, slave boy.”

Pine did, swallowing to relieve the sudden dryness of his throat. Simone’s hands slid down the insides of his thighs, tickling. One hand reached to weigh his balls and he drew in a breath.

“Don’t worry; I’m gentle,” came her reassurance. “I think you need some positive strokes, darling. Let’s see what I can do.”

Moments later in the bedroom, Pine found himself flat on his back with his hands bound by a scarf behind his head, knees up, feet flat on the mattress. While he felt better about not being on display through the living room window, the full vulnerability of his position had him tense. Simone came and parked a hip on the edge of the bed, smiling at him until she had his attention.

“Now now, boy, this is going to be good for you. Maddeningly good I think because you’re going to do what I say, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied slowly. Simone leaned forward and kissed him. He relaxed a bit; her kiss had that power, and when he did, she pulled back.

“Now, here are the rules. I will touch you but you cannot come. If you feel yourself too close to the edge, say ‘Mistress’ and I will stop. BUT,” she added impishly, “if I can’t stroke your prick, then I will touch elsewhere, boy. Mostly inside your thighs and all around those tender places that don’t get much attention.”

Pine felt his prick throb even as he gritted his teeth. Simone laid a hand on his stomach just under his navel, stroking him soothingly. “I know you trust me to be gentle, don’t you, sweet boy?”

“Yes Mistress,” it came out with a little reluctance, and Simone seemed to understand; she cocked her head.

“What is the word that will stop everything, darling?”

“Jaguar,” he replied, watching her face.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Much as I love tormenting you, making you breathless with pleasure, I know the rules too. You can make it stop my gorgeous toy, with just that word.”

He sighed. Easy now. Her reassurance, solid and calm made it all so much easier and Pine let her blindfold him as he smiled.

*** *** *** 

He’d never been done like this, left teetering between lust and ache this way. Groaning, Pine rolled his head back and forth, lost in the never-ending sensations between his thighs.

Stroking. Simone had some sort of vanilla-scented lubrication and her touch was infuriatingly slow and perfect. Her hands gripped him with just the right pressure, the glide of her palms and fingers up and down his length had Pine shuddering with each stroke.

“Mmmmistressss,” he drawled, aware of spikes of pleasure tightening his nipples. Close, yes. Close but not there, and the sensations were almost painful now. 

She laughed and let go of his prick, letting it smack wetly against his flat belly. A moment to breathe, and then Simone’s hands were gliding along the insides of his thighs, teasing his fur, moving his attention elsewhere.

Pine bit back a groan as her fingers slid across his perineum, teasing the sensitive patch before gliding to circle the pucker of his ass. It wasn’t nearly as tight as it had been twenty minutes earlier; no, now Pine purred as two of her fingers slid into him slowly.

It wasn’t that he’d never experienced this but not to this degree. Simone’s sweet and ruthless play left him writhing with pleasure, sweating, shivering, growling like a beast. Pine wasn’t sure how much more he could take without going insane. The deliberate pace, the shifting focus, the hazy sweet place where nothing else mattered . . .

Her fingers curled and Pine arched up a bit, gasping, white sparks going off behind his closed lids.

“You like this, don’t you?” she murmured. “Sweet animal.”

“Mistress . . .” Pine managed, licking his lips. “I . . . _need_.”

He felt her take his cock in hand again, but the fingers inside him stayed, and Pine tensed as Simone alternately stroked his length and prostate—slowly at first, but increasing until he couldn’t hold out any longer.

The sullen pleasure surged hard and thick through him, hot ropes of semen spurting from his prick as he cried out, nipples tight, waves of heat and chill over his naked skin. When the last little dribbles started to roll down his softening prick, he dimly felt Simone let go and slowly withdraw her fingers, her movements tenderly gentle. He felt her rise off the bed, heard the water in the bathroom and then—

A warm washcloth wiping him, followed by a soft towel. Pine straightened his legs and let her clean him. When she was done, he felt her take off the blindfold. 

“Jonathan,” she murmured and he saw her eyes were wet. “I do so _love_ you.” She straddled him, reaching to untie his hands and the minute they were free he wrapped them around her, pulling her down to lie on top of him.

“I love you,” he told his bride in a wondering whisper. “I love you in a way I never thought I’d ever love another person, Simone. Not just for what our bodies do, but what our hearts do together.”

She gave a little sob and moved closer, kissing his shoulder. “I love you,” she echoed. “We fit. I never thought I would find you and now I have.”

There were more tears and Pine couldn’t tell which were his, and which were hers.

And it didn’t matter.


End file.
